As The Story Goes
by Trinity Everett
Summary: A collection of Caskett drabbles, ficlets, and one-shots based on prompts. Today's offering: Business As Usual - She's beautiful and soft, almost delicate in the pale moonlight, an utter contrast from the angry chaos of just a few hours ago. K /T Rated.
1. The Process

**As The Story Goes**

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**Author's Notes: ** _As The Story Goes_ is my collection of Castle/Beckett ficlets, drabbles, and one-shots I've written as responses to prompts. All are up on my tumblr, but I wanted to finally get them posted here. Enjoy!

For today's offering, lousiemcdoogle on tumblr prompted me with Castle walking Kate back to her car after Martha's one-woman show in Once Upon a Crime.

**Spoilers**: Season 4, post-Once Upon a Crime, Caskett, reasonably canon-compliant I think.**  
**

**Disclaimer**: I claim no ownership over Castle, Beckett, or anyone you recognize from this wonderful show. I'm simply playing with them for my own amusement.

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"Well, it looks like you made it out of the woods, Castle."

Her partner chuckled beside her, a low, easy thing that spread warmth through her belly and down to her fingertips. It made her wool coat nearly obsolete, that warmth. She loved his laugh.

Well, she loved more than that, but things were still complicated. She was trying, of course she was, but it was a process. A sometimes infuriating process, but a process nonetheless.

"Yeah, I guess I did. And you didn't even have to use your gun."

This time she was the one chuckling, allowing him to see how much his recall of her earlier gaff amused her. He'd taken his lumps all evening with relative grace; she'd let him have this. This chance to hold the door for her and make her laugh on the brief walk to her car.

"Lucky me. It probably would've been hard to explain to Gates if I had."

The smile he sent her way had her smiling back without hesitation. This was the easy part.

"I had fun tonight," she offered softly, giving his jacket sleeve a gentle tug. Her handhold earlier had been impulsive, but this touching was becoming increasingly deliberate.

"You always have fun when you and my mother gang up on me."

Well he had her there. She grinned, bumping him gently.

"Say that like your ego doesn't love being the center of attention, Castle."

He laughed again, bumping her back. They'd been doing this a lot lately. The nudges, the laughter. It was good.

"I'm glad."

"Hmm?" She lifted her eyes to his, trying to follow his train of thought. Had she said something out loud when she shouldn't have?

"Glad you had fun at my personal history's expense, Beckett."

Right. The show.

"However will your actual innocent history survive?" she drawled, biting her lip to hold whatever it was she might also say in check.

"I honestly have no idea."

"You poor thing."

"Yeah it's tough being me."

Her head dipped in amusement. Sometimes her partner could give his mother a run for her money when it came to theatrics, but it was endearing. The man loved his mother dearly, no matter how much he grumbled.

Her cruiser came into view far sooner than she would've liked and she found herself slowing down before their stroll could come to an end. It had been a good night; she really wasn't ready for it to be over. Her apartment would be dark when she let herself in, quiet and empty. Any other time the quiet might be just fine with her, but after leaving the loft it just felt lonely.

"You're not heading back to work are you?"

"What?" Her eyes darted to him, finding him studying her carefully. She'd gotten used to his scrutiny long ago. "No, no. Just heading home. It's late, there's no reason to head back in until tomorrow morning unless we get a call."

Whatever he'd been looking for in her face, he must've found because he nodded, smiling easily once more.

"Good."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, drawing her keys out of her pocket. Her thumb worried over the ridges of her car key as she ran through their conversation options in her head. They'd run out of real estate on the sidewalk, making it time to go even if she didn't want it to be.

"So this is me." Was she really this bad at this?

"It is you," Castle observed, sounding as reluctant to say good night as she felt.

Nodding lamely in return, she shifted her weight.

"Thanks again, and thank Martha again too."

"I will."

This hadn't been a date, but it damn sure felt like it. Then again, any other date and she wouldn't be agonizing this way. She shouldn't be agonizing this way now, either. The process sucked sometimes.

"See you tomorrow, Castle."

She didn't wait for him to reply. She also didn't let herself think too hard about the kiss she pressed to his cheek. It wasn't anything substantial, over before it started really, but her cheeks flamed traitorously anyway as she unlocked her car door and slid inside.

"And oh!" she added quickly, clearing her throat and the fog from her mind. "Tell Martha I can't wait to see the pictures she digs up."

That seemed to shake Castle out of his stupor, too.

"What? No, no, that's not fair, Beckett. If you get the naked baby pictures, I do t-"

She shut the door on his protests, feeling the grin spread over her cheeks. That put things back on a more even keel, didn't it?

"Beckett! I'll call your dad!"

"Goodniiiight, Castle," she singsonged through her window, pulling away from the curb. A quick glance in her rearview mirror told her he looked as amused and dumbstruck as she'd hoped he would.

Good. It was a process and it sucked, but they were getting there.


	2. A Late Brunch

**A/N: **Today's offering for _As The Story Goes _was prompted by amtepe on tumblr: Kate telling Jim she's with Castle (sometime post 4x23).

If we're going by canon timeline, this is set post-Secret's Safe With Me, but pre-Murder He Wrote, but it can also function as a tad AU in timeline and work just after Kate goes back to work.

* * *

**A Late Brunch**

It wasn't that his daughter was never late. With her job, it happened. He wasn't always on time either, especially not on court days. Usually she remembered to text him to let him know she would be longer than expected, though. They both did. Neither of them wanted to remember how it felt to wait for someone, only to have their lives torn apart when they never arrived. Which was why he was honestly starting to worry when, half an hour after their agreed meeting time, she still wasn't there, and hadn't reached out to tell him when she would be.

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm sorry I'm late."

His finger paused mid-text as Katie came skidding alongside their usual booth, looking for all the world like she'd just rolled out of bed and run through a car wash instead of taking time for a shower on the way to the diner.

"Sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry." She was already hugging him when he made it to his feet. His arms banded around her tightly, a little too tightly, but she just squeezed him in response.

"That's okay, I was just sending you a text to check on you." He kissed her cheek gently, taking a beat to shut his eyes and be thankful that everything seemed to be okay.

"I know, I'm sorry. I overslept and I almost forgot my phone. I had to go back for it," she explained breathlessly. "I really thought I'd be here sooner, that's why I didn't call."

She dropped a kiss on his cheek. He'd missed this. After losing Johanna and nearly losing him to his grief, his daughter's affection had been guarded, careful. For years, she hugged him with reservation, as if she expected him to be gone when she opened her eyes. Then she made the break in Johanna's case and her hugs grew tighter, more frequent. Her smiles came more easily, too, easing his own worries just a little more.

"You're fine, Katie. Sit, you look like you need coffee."

"Oh God, tell me about it."

He smiled as she laughed at herself. Late or not, his daughter looked happier than he'd seen her in a long time.

"Is work keeping you busy?" He'd been out of the country for a few weeks, negotiating a new contract for one of his clients, and email just didn't cut it when it came to catching up with his daughter.

To his surprise, Katie's cheeks flushed a pink he hadn't seen in years. Not since she was a budding teenager and his wife used to tell him not to say a word to embarrass her.

"Work is… Well, I had some time off, but now I'm back and it's been nonstop."

Time off? She hadn't mentioned that in her emails.

"Time off?"

She sighed, fiddling with the paper placemat in front of her. "I was suspended, Dad."

"Suspended? What happened?" He knew he was frowning when she frowned too.

Instead of answering, though, her hand snaked out for his coffee cup. She'd always hated the way he drank his coffee and the face she made after a hearty sip this time was no exception, but it made for a good stalling technique and they both knew it.

"I got caught up in a case and I made a bad call. Gates had no choice but to suspend me. But now I'm back."

"Your mom's case?" he asked softly, leaning forward to touch her fingertips. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"And mine," she confirmed, causing his throat to tighten at the possibilities. Before he could speak, though, she squeezed his hand, sitting up to accept her own cup of coffee and tailor it to something she deemed tolerable. He watched her movements carefully, smiling tightly when she lifted her head again and soldiered on, "But I've put them both away for now. Not forever, but for now, it's better this way."

He nodded in agreement, the band around his chest loosening just a little. "I think so, too. And it's good to see you looking relaxed after taking time off, instead of bored out of your mind," he murmured, trying to steer the conversation to different territory. Away from the darkness of the case, away from the pain of the previous summer, hell the previous decade.

But ah, there was the blush again. Interesting.

"I've definitely not been bored," she started, narrowing her eyes at him and sipping her coffee again. "I caught up on my reading… watched some TV."

He nodded in understanding, waiting for her to continue.

"Spent some time with Castle," she added finally, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Oh really? Well it was about time. "I see."

She rolled her eyes just like her mother. And Johanna had always wondered where it came from. Hah.

"Don't gloat, Dad."

He schooled his expression. "Who's gloating? I'm just glad things are working out."

"And if you get up and start dancing, I'm going home," she retorted, grinning underneath the bite of her words.

"Damn, I have to cancel the jig then."

That earned him a giggle. An honest to God giggle like he hadn't heard since the nights she and Johanna would conspire against him to force a truce out of him for the sake of keeping the peace in their headstrong little family.

"Funny. But just… it's good. New, but good." Her smile agreed with her words. "But don't tell anyone, okay? Martha and Alexis know, but they kind of have to know… but nobody else besides you. Please?"

"Katie," he called, easing through her rapid-fire explanation. "I won't tell anyone about you and Rick. I promise. I'm just happy you're happy."

And just like that, the soft, happy smile was back on her face. "Thanks, Dad." She deflated just a little, making him think she'd been waiting to get that off her chest, pushing a still-damp strand of hair behind her ear. "So, have you ordered yet?"

"No, just the coffee. I was waiting for you."

She smiled again, nodding. "Good. Let's do that, then. I'm starving."

"I bet." He sipped his coffee carefully, washing her face flush even darker than before.

"Dad!"

"From rushing, Katie." Now he was smirking. She was normally so unflappable; this would be fun. "What were you talking about?"

He had to admit he'd earned the balled up package of sugar she hurled his way.

"I hate you both," she muttered. "You and Castle. He makes me late and you mock me."

"Sure you do, Sweetheart." Maybe he didn't need to know the last part, but she was on a roll.

"Yeah I do, both of you."

He was confident she didn't hate either of them, really.


	3. The Real Deal

**Title**: The Real Deal

**Rating**: T for language

**Pairing**: Castle/Beckett

**Prompt:** beckettshooha prompted me to write: Beckett's water breaks while interrogating a suspect.

**Notes**: This one ran away from me a little bit. I usually try to keep ficlets at about 1000 words, but this one is actually double that!

If she wanted to get technical, she shouldn't have still been there. After over two months of desk duty and the occasional interview, her maternity leave had officially started at 5pm, but she'd opted to stay late and finish the last of her case-related paperwork to spare the boys the nuisance. It was her gift to them as thanks for their gifts to her throughout her pregnancy. Plus, she knew that maybe she wasn't quite ready to leave for other reasons, too. She was looking forward to this time off, to spending the next two (maybe three if this child had his father's gift for procrastination) weeks preparing her mind and her home for the baby and spending time with her husband. She'd just also miss the precinct and work. She would miss the familiar tasks she was damn good at, especially once the baby came and her parenting skills were up in the air.

So when Karpowski and one of the uniforms who usually worked the desk downstairs led a scrawny, snarling young man through the bullpen, she was intrigued. Of course she was. So intrigued, she stood slowly when her fellow detective practically threw him into the box and stomped over to her desk for a file.

"Everything okay, Karpowski?" she called easily, resting her hand on top of her belly in amusement. The kid had dropped last week, which was turning out to be a blessing and a curse wrapped up in one. On one hand it was a blessing because he was no longer squishing into her ribs, on the other it was a curse because now she was full-on waddling, a fact which tickled Castle to no end.

"Ugh," that was statement enough, but Karpowski continued, "I hate kids."

Her lifted eyebrow and quick look down had Karpowski backtracking instantly, "No no, well, not _yours,_ Beckett, obviously. But demon spawns like that one in there. I'm sure yours will be great."

She gave in and laughed. "I hear ya. What's he in for anyway?"

"You mean besides pissing me off?"

"Yeah, besides that." She cocked her head, absently sliding her hand over her belly to poke at her son. He'd been relatively sedate all day, which probably meant she was in for another late night of organ football. That was fine; he was sweet even if he made her back ache day in and day out. He'd be even sweeter once he was out of her, but she would take the extra time. She needed it.

"It's the Lewis case. We tried to question him at the scene and the little punk took off."

She nodded, smiling again. Not because anyone running was funny, but Karpowski's indignation was always amusing. "Ahh."

"And you know what he said to me?"

"No, what?" The conversation helped her ignore another painful twinge in her back. Said pain had been coming and going most of the day along with the Braxton-Hicks contractions that had sent her and Castle to the ER on what they were affectionately (now that the embarrassment had worn off) calling their 'baby-having dry-run.'

"He said he was surprised I caught him since there were no donuts at the end of the race."

She snorted. "Original."

"Little shit. Anyway, I'm gonna let him squirm for a few before I go in there and get a straight answer out of him."

"You want me to try? I'm not heading home yet, I could try the fake labor gag again?" She grinned, remembering the first time she had decided to have a little bit of harmless fun with someone in the box.

She'd just started her desk duty and was frankly more than a little bored. When some gang banger wannabe thought he'd get under her skin with comments about her being pregnant, she pretended to go into labor in return. And oh, had he talked; he had spewed his story between panicky "Oh come on!"s. She wasn't ashamed to say she'd laughed her ass off after LT came in to haul the man away. Half a dozen fake Oscars had found their way onto her desk before the day was out, and her husband had insisted on displaying them in his office beside the other trinkets he'd collected from their various cases.

"Nah, Beckett, it's okay. I got this one."

"You sure? It'll give me a laugh before I head home for months," she wheedled. "Plus, it'll knock him down a peg. Don't you want that?"

She felt her back spasm again, but she ignored it in favor of turning pleading eyes on her colleague.

"Five minutes. By then my ride will probably be here, too."

"Who, Castle?"

"Who else? He's picking up dinner or something on the way in, some contribution for the party the boys think they're being sneaky about planning behind my back."

Karpowski's surprised face made her chuckle.

"Oh come on, did anyone actually think they'd pull it off? A surprise? From me?" Yes, she had a bad case of pregnancy brain, but she still wouldn't be fooled. They'd been "sneaking" around for days, taking calls and looking over their shoulders at her. Yeah, they weren't fooling anyone. "If I leave now, it'll ruin it for them and I don't want to watch Castle pout all night."

"Okay, okay, have your fun, Beckett."

She rubbed her belly in triumph, using the moment to urge the false contractions to ease up. She didn't want to be off her game.

"Alright, give me the folder, I'm going in."

The folder hit her palm with an all-too satisfactory smack. Karpowski snickered, but stepped aside.

"Give 'em hell."

"Always do." She pushed the door open, ignoring the way the kid – if a nineteen year old with that many non-sealed arrests on their record really counted as a kid – looked her over and scoffed.

"Well you're not what I expected. Nice rack, but I was hoping for someone a little less knocked up."

"Rack jokes, clever. Why'd you run from my colleagues, Mr. Sanders?"

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "I was late for work. It's a dog eat dog world, can't lose my job."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, you'll have a hard time keeping that job when you go away for murder. Guess you need to get in all the overtime you can."

"Whoa, lady. I didn't kill anybody. I just didn't want to answer any stupid questions. You know how it is."

She slapped the folder on the table, using the motion to cover the tensing in her belly. That one had a surprising amount of kick to it.

"Yes, that sounds like a ringing endorsement for your innocence."

"Yeah, well, it is."

"Funny, we have evidence that says oth-otherwise," she stuttered as the pressure increased again. Okay, maybe she had overdone it today. "The evide- shit." Her hand landed on her stomach, making a valiant attempt at massaging the cramp away. This wasn't the plan; this was feeling very real.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you dropping that kid right here? Isn't that against my civil rights or something?"

She gritted her teeth. "Shut up. You're in here because you ran from questioning, which made you look suspicious. Because you ran, uniforms searched your place and found even more suspicious materials." She fixed him with a look. "Care to explain those?"

He was off balance at least. So that part of the plan was working.

"Look, lady, I dunno what they found, but I didn't kill anybody. I wasn't even there."

"Sure you weren't." She exhaled, pressing her hand against her stomach again.

"I wasn't, I was with a lady friend. Her rack was almost as good as yours, by the way. Minus the other thing."

She ignored the dig. "Oh I'm sure you had plenty of time to take care of him after your minute and a half was up."

"Hey! Just because you're too knocked up to have good sex anymore doesn't mean you can insult my abilities."

She had half a mind to tell him exactly how good her "knocked up" sex was – when she wasn't feeling like a flopping, uncoordinated beached whale, of course. In fact, it had been damn good that morning. Castle cheerfully called it celebratory "going on maternity leave" sex as they'd both dressed on shaky legs. She didn't say any of that, though.

"Anyway, Mr. Sanders. Tell me about the victim. You knew him. You'd been see-" she halted, shifting her hips as the pressure came again. "Seen arguing with him. The day before he died, in fact. Tell me, what were you arguing about?"

"Nothing I'd kill the guy over. The asshole stole my newspaper. I'm an intellectual guy, you know."

"Yeah, sure you are." This time she couldn't hide her grimace. Shit, the pressure wasn't going away. "What did you arg-" Oh, fuck. That was no – no, no, that was _not_ what she thought it was.

"Shit, you're gonna pop that kid out right now."

"N-no. No I'm not."

Except… shit. Yes, she actually might. Oh, shit. Was she _really_ in labor?

"Answer the question," she gritted, flattening her hand against her stomach. This was not happening. Not here, not yet. It was another false alarm, it had to be.

Her charge squirmed in his seat, looking increasingly uncomfortable with her discomfort. Good. He should be.

"Start talking," she insisted. "Or maybe I will drop this kid right here. Those are contractions, you know."

"Shit, lady, don't do that here. Go to a hospital or something."

"Why not tell me what I need to know?" Her teeth ground a little on the last syllables. Yeah, she was in labor. Those weren't Braxton-Hicks; those weren't false alarm contractions. Those were real. "It gets you out of here faster. Gets me out of here. I know you want that."

"Look, as much as the moaning might be a turn on, you gotta go take care of that," he tried again. "I didn't kill anyone, I didn't!"

She shifted her feet, trying to alleviate some of the discomfort. It didn't work, but he was starting to talk. She couldn't stop now.

"What were you arguing about? And don't tell me your newspaper."

"Fine! He borrowed money from me and blew it. All of it. The asshole was so far in debt it was gonna take him ten years or something stupid to get out of it. And I was pissed, but I didn't kill him. He'd never pay me back if he was dead."

Now she was getting somewhere.

"Who'd he owe the money to?" There, now the pain was settling. She could handle this. Real labor or not, she could handle this.

"Some bookie."

"What bookie?" She grunted for emphasis, as if she was experiencing another contraction.

"Some guy! I don't know his name. Do I look like a gambler?"

No, he looked like a tweaker, but she didn't say that. She straightened a little, feeling another very real twinge starting. It was stronger this time. She hissed through her teeth.

"You've seen him? Describe him."

Her hand slid under her belly, as if the touch would soothe things into submission. Her doctor had told her once the baby dropped it could be any day, but that didn't mean it should be this day. She wasn't ready!

He eyed her warily, but started firing off details. She nodded, even though she wasn't really listening. Instead she was thinking. Rethinking her entire day, trying to figure out when this started. When she had gone into labor.

Then she remembered the article Castle gleefully read to her after their last doctor's appointment. The one that detailed all the ways they could try to jump start labor if they needed to. The method that stuck out?

Sex.

_Shit_.

"Anyway, I only saw him on – shit lady, are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine. But you're going to have to tell another detective. I have to go. My water just broke."

Yeah, it would've been nice if she'd been joking, running the gag like she had before, but unless she'd just lost all control of her bladder, she definitely wasn't.

"Karpowski!" she bellowed, ignoring the kid's stricken, wide eyes and fearful questions as she waddled as quickly as her damp slacks allowed. "Get in here and bring a mop."

She took a deep breath, reaching for the doorknob. "And someone call Castle!"


	4. The Handyman Can

**Title: **The Handyman Can

**Spoilers**: Brief mention of 6x23, Future!fic

**Pairing**: Castle/Beckett

**Notes**: So I really love Jim, I cannot lie. Prompted by amtepe: Castle and Jim Beckett work on a project together.

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He loved Richard Castle like a son. He adored the man for bringing light back into his daughter's life and bringing family back to him as well. Rick made Katie whole in a way no one else ever could; he made her smile, made her think. He even made Jim himself think nearly every time they saw each other. All told, he was a nearly ideal son-in-law, if there was such a thing. Except for one detail:

A handyman, Rick Castle was not.

Even that was endearing, though. Jim knew all about Rick's history; he knew the man's father hadn't been there, and his mother, while wonderful, couldn't be both parents in every way. He knew wood shop wasn't in the curriculum at the boarding schools Rick had attended growing up and supers were the ones who took care of most of the issues that cropped up in apartments in New York. There was no shame in not being handy, but Jim was still more than willing to step in and help fill that void in Rick's life.

When Johanna died, he hadn't been much of a father to Katie. Not for a long time (too long). Even when he found himself again, things had changed dramatically. He knew he'd never be able to make up for that lost time with his child, but maybe taking Rick under his wing in some way helped to atone for the past. For the sins of Rick's father. And that included taking Rick to Home Depot with a list of supplies to buy for their project.

He knew normally Rick would have called someone to fix it – his son-in-law was famous for "having a guy" for everything – but when they'd noticed the damage to the fence and the gate around the pool, Jim had volunteered them both to take care of it. Much to Rick's excitement and Katie's combination amusement and concern. It wasn't a complicated project. Replace a couple boards and replace the latch with one that wouldn't open at the slightest hint of wind. They would absolutely be able to handle it in an afternoon. Jim had taken care of much worse growing up, so even though they both knew Rick hadn't, they would be fine. They just needed to get started.

"So where do we start, Jim?"

He reached out to take the crumpled list from Rick's hand, smiling at the eagerness on the younger man's face.

"We'll start with the little things. Wood screws, nails, the brackets, and the new latch. Then we'll take care of getting them to cut the wood down to size for us."

Rick nodded thoughtfully, no doubt mulling the list over in his head. "What about tools? Gloves?"

He laughed. "I checked before we left and you're pretty well-equipped, Rick." At that, he watched Rick's face fall just a little. "But you could probably use another pair of gloves if you want. Your hands are bigger than the ones I saw."

"Right," Rick replied, flexing his fingers against the handle of the shopping cart. His wedding ring tapped against the plastic when he gripped the bar once more. "Sounds good. I'll grab those then."

He nodded easily, pleased to see the excitement returning. Katie was ten the last time she'd been this excited to be in a hardware store with him. It was a nice feeling.

"Good. So let's start here and work our way to the lumber."

"Great!"

And just like that, they were off. Two men – father and son-in-law – buying the tools to fix their home.

Of course that didn't quite take the fact that his son-in-law was Richard Castle into account. Each aisle had a new question from Rick, which in turn led to more questions. He remembered Katie lamenting the man's inquisitive nature early on in their partnership, but Jim knew to take it in stride. He was eager. He wanted to know and learn the things he wasn't an expert on. Even if that thirst for knowledge resulted in questions like, "would a handheld screwdriver be able to penetrate clothing and restrain someone, or would a hammer and nails work better."

"I have no idea, Rick. Maybe Katie knows?"

Rick stopped in the middle of the aisle, grabbing his phone out of his back pocket. "I'll ask her, but I may have to try it anyway."

"Try it?" Jim lifted an eyebrow. "Do you do that… often?"

He shrugged. "Not as often as I used to. Seeing everything else in action is usually good, but sometimes it's just the finer details I need."

Jim nodded. Details he understood. Details could make or break a case.

"Well, if you need to find out, I'd suggest the longer screws and a flathead screwdriver. And I'd suggest grabbing another roll of duct tape, too."

Rick's fingers snapped eagerly. "You're so right, Jim. So right. This is what I love about you Becketts. You're so smart."

The extra items hit the bottom of their cart with a flourish.

Jim laughed softly. "Happy to help today, Rick."

"I mean it. If this works, it'll be perfect for the next book."

"Well good. I'm glad. Now, what's next on our list?"

Somehow they managed to make it to the lumber before his phone rang. They'd stopped a few more times for Rick to bounce ideas off of him and ultimately throw a few more "research" items in the cart, but they were making relatively good time. All things considered. Giving his son-in-law a nod, he left Rick giving the young man at the saw the third degree about getting the right cut, and stepped back to check his phone.

As expected, it was a text from his daughter. Also as expected, she was… concerned about their progress and wanted to check in without worrying Rick. It had been more than a year, but he knew how she felt when they were here. She still worried for Rick and for him if it felt like they were delayed on the way back to the sprawling Hamptons house. After everything he couldn't blame her for being skittish.

He hated typing on that stupid phone of his, so he called her back. "We're okay, Katie. We're having a good time, but we'll be home soon."

"You're still at the store?"

"We're still at the store, but we're finishing up. Rick's getting tips on using the saw."

"Yeah, I've heard all about the tips you're giving him. Use the flathead screwdriver, Dad? Really?"

He chuckled. "We'll be done soon, I promise. Now, I'm going to get the wood and pass along some more wisdom to your husband."

"Oh good, just what Castle needs." She was laughing, though, as happy as he was that they'd managed to make this trip work out. "See you soon. Don't let him torment the poor guy for too long."

Oh he wouldn't. They had a project to work on after all.


	5. Late Night Lives

**Title**: Late Night Lives

**Pairing**: Castle/Beckett

**Spoilers**: Probable Cause (5x05)

**Rating**: High T, low M, non-graphic mention of sexy times.

**Prompt**: dontgiveup88/nikkibeckettcsm prompted me to write "The first time Castle begins to notice that their or signs of Beckett in his room, like a few months or weeks after they got together and there are little reminders of her presence […]" I can't say this follows the prompt exactly, but hopefully it works!

* * *

He should've been asleep, but he just couldn't close his eyes. Every corner held a shadow, the potential for an intruder to emerge. He half expected Tyson to come back and finish the job; to kill him maybe, but more likely to hurt Kate and make it look like he'd done it. To make it look like he'd snapped under the pressure of a murder arrest and affair accusations and taken it out on his partner, the woman who'd defended him in the face of every bit of damning, hurtful evidence. The woman curled at his side, her slim fingers brushing his chest as she caught up on the sleep she'd no doubt lost while he'd been locked away in holding. Their earlier life-affirming activities probably hadn't helped her energy levels either.

But while she slept, he wouldn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't give Tyson another chance to take this from him.

In truth it was a little strange to be in his bed knowing just two days ago, a day ago, people he called his friends had been here searching the room for proof that he'd been lying to her – to everyone – about sharing his life with another and going so far as to kill the girl to cover it up. Their friends had searched his drawers, the closets, the bathroom, probably even between the sheets and under his mattress, too. And yes, they'd found proof of his life with someone; his life with Kate. A life they'd wanted to keep to themselves for no reason other than it was _theirs_.

Now they all knew. Or almost everyone knew. He had no idea how Gates couldn't know after the last few days, and he had no idea how she would handle it the next time he went to the precinct. All he could be grateful for was she hadn't been with the group to walk through his home. Gates might be the only one who didn't see Kate's toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. The others saw her shampoo and conditioner on the ledge and her bright green razor in the shower. The others saw her shoes – kick ass boots and feminine ballet flats alike – in his closet and the clothing he was slowly convincing her it was easier to leave here instead of forcing her to go home in the mornings.

It wasn't moving in by any stretch. Truthfully, they spent just as much time at her place as they did his, but it made him feel good to share with her. It was a way for her to know everything in him still ached for her months after they'd started this new chapter together.

He wasn't sure how to feel now. Not about her, of course. Never about them. They were the thing that made sense now that everything else felt raw and violated. He was scrutinizing every knick knack and possession in the dark and trying to determine if it'd been moved by the NYPD or by Jerry Tyson. He'd spent too many hours wondering where the bugs that'd recorded every touch, every whisper, every kiss he and Kate shared for who knew how long had been. He was almost sure they weren't there anymore unless Tyson had another underground lair where he was hiding to keep spying on him, on them, and relish in the aftermath of his scheming.

"Castle." He jumped just enough at the interruption of his thoughts to make her rub his chest to soothe him. "Hey, hey, it's okay."

Her voice was throaty with sleep, making him wonder if he'd somehow woken her, or if she'd just known he wasn't asleep.

"Sorry," he whispered, covering her hand and thumbing her knuckles. "I'm okay. Go back to sleep, Kate."

She kissed his chest in response, humming into his skin. She was always a bit more demonstrative when she was tired. Not that he wanted for her affection any time, it just always came a little more readily when she was sleepy.

"What is it?"

"Do you think he searched everything the same way you did? By you I mean the NYPD, not you you," he added the last part when she started to stiffen against him. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't exactly think of himself as one of the NYPD's own right now. Detective Beckett had stood by him, but he knew what it had cost her to do so; putting her faith in him instead of the evidence hadn't come easily.

"Castle," she exhaled, pushing up until they were nose to nose. "I think he's gone and he doesn't deserve another minute of our time. Of your time." She kissed him firmly then, like she was settling the matter once and for all.

He wanted to believe it was.

"I know, but do you think he used your procedures? He got my fingerprints, Beckett. He hid _cameras_ in here – and he used them to watch us – he planted those things in my bag and I had no idea. He unassed this place better than we ever have."

Her thumb slid over his jaw. "Castle, hey, hey. Breathe."

"He saw everything, Kate. My entire life. Our entire lives. Everyone saw it. They saw your shoes and your clothes. Probably saw your bra –"

"I don't have a bra here."

"Laundry room. I washed it, it's hanging up. I didn't expect anyone to see it."

"Besides your mom."

"Besides her."

"And Alexis," she reminded, earning a wince. Alexis had been in there doing laundry just a few days ago, the same day all this started.

"They're not Jerry Tyson. Or Ryan. Or Esposito. Or LT, or anyone who came in here and searched the place."

She made another soothing noise. "I know. I know, Castle. I'm sorry." She kissed him softly. "I'm so sorry we had to. I'm sorry I had to bring them here."

He cut her off with a hard kiss. "Stop, Kate. It's not your fault. It's not."

His hand slid through her hair. "I know it's not your fault, Kate. I just…"

He trailed off as she started to mirror his movements, fingers sliding first through his hair and then coming up to smooth across his forehead, urging his tension away.

"I know." Her lips touched his forehead and she settled more firmly against him, pressing every sinful curve to his. No doubt awakening yet another part of him. To be honest, that part he didn't mind awakening so much.

"Castle, I know. You didn't do this. He did. And yes, I hate the thought of anyone rifling through the underwear I could swear I _hadn't_ left here," she paused, pressing a kiss to his lips to let him know she was onto him. She pulled back just as his tongue darted out, continuing, "but it's done. We'll clean the rest of the mess up, even change the blinds, the locks, and the security codes tomorrow. If you want."

His eyes closed as a shred of relief surged through him. "Okay, yeah let's do that. New blinds in here, in the other bedrooms too. And I'll call my guy about the locks and the security system."

"Okay," she agreed, lightly scratching his head. Just having a plan helped and she knew it. They liked having plans, both of them. "And I'll make you another deal if you're interested."

"Mmm?" he forced an eye open. Her plan to calm him into sleepy submission was working. "M'always interested in your deals, Beckett."

"In that case, the deal is you get to pick out one or two pieces of clothing for me to leave here and I'll swap them out with what was poked at, observed, and rifled through."

He blinked, hand coming up to cup her shoulder. "One or two outfits?"

"One or two pieces, Castle."

His mouth slid over hers, tongue parting her lips eagerly. It wasn't just an offer to let him purge the memory of Jerry Tyson pawing through their combined clothing, it was the promise that this wouldn't break them. Tyson's games – his lies – wouldn't break this thing they'd both worked so damn hard for, no matter how much the evidence had been stacked against them.

"Mhmm, one or two pieces," she warned, rocking against him. He bit back the groan. "No more, no less."

Right. Like he was going to stop at one or two measly pieces for this woman who wore everything like the hottest model he'd ever seen. From her grin, she didn't believe he'd refrain either. She knew she'd have at least half a dozen new things before the end of his shopping day.

"No more, Kate?" he breathed, flipping them easily and settling into the welcoming cradle of her hips. She gripped him as their bodies joined, exhaling a stuttering breath he couldn't help but echo. "Are you sure?"

His lips slid up the long column of her neck in time with his first gentle thrust. "Not a single bit more?" he hummed.

"Oh fu- fine. Fine, Castle, more. Go crazy."

She pulled his head back to hers, lips crashing hard against his.

"Go nuts, Castle. Just don't stop."

He grinned, feeling the last few days start to slough off finally. "If you insist, Beckett."


	6. Empty Slots Filled

**Title:** Empty Slots Filled

**Pairing**: Castle/Beckett

**Word Count**: 3,257

**Spoilers**: 6x23. Speculation only for Season 7.

**Prompt**: "how you think caskett will reunite in season 7," from a lovely anonymous reader.

**Note**: I'm going to start posting a new fic soon, hopefully, so I want to get as many of my already filled prompts up. Hope everyone doesn't mind updates coming a little bit faster than they have been!

* * *

If it hadn't been for a fax machine and a photo, they wouldn't have called her.

She'd been kicked out of the precinct hours earlier, long after Gates and most of the day shift had already clocked out for the night. Espo got the hard job of taking her nearly full coffee mug from her hand – giving Ryan a night off from taking the brunt of her annoyance since he usually suggested knocking off together and used his kid as the perfect cover – and pushing her out the door into the warm summer air.

Sleep had been calling for hours, but instead she'd ignored it, choosing to take the longest way possible back to the loft – her home, her almost home. Nothing felt much like home anymore, but Martha and Alexis tried for her, so she tried for them. She only went to her apartment when there was something new to add to the reconstructed board in the window.

Gates turned a blind eye to them working a non-homicide in their down time, but they all knew another few weeks and she would have to put her foot down. The board at home was her backup for when that happened.

Honestly, there hadn't been much to add lately. It had been weeks and nothing. CSU had managed to collect little to no evidence from his torched car. There were no witnesses along that road on their wedding day, not that that particular stretch was ever congested beyond major vacation holidays. They had received no word from kidnappers, no outrageous ransom demands, nothing. Just silence and a gaping, empty space in her life where Richard Castle once was.

Supposedly, Missing Persons and the FBI had jurisdiction. Supposedly, it was being handled. All she knew was whenever she checked in (admittedly, it was sometimes upwards of ten times a day) there was nothing.

Her fiancé – _Castle_ – was just gone.

After a week of fruitless investigating, someone at Black Pawn got the idea to release the story to the media, release statements and appeals from his family for anyone with information to contact the NYPD. As always, hundreds of calls and emails flooded in. All of them were cranks, false reports, flat out lies, misinformation. The FBI got involved after some claimed he'd been spotted in Vegas laughing it up at Jay Leno's stand-up show. Other reports claimed he'd gotten cold feet, decided he just didn't want to marry _her_ and run off with them; each claiming to be his one true love, of course. It didn't matter what the story was; it was still bogus and Castle was still gone.

Bogus or not, though, she'd looked into as many of them as she could. She had run herself ragged trying to corroborate people's bullshit stories. The boys had been the ones to convince her to step back. To let them handle the tip line. They'd vowed she'd be notified if anything credible came in, but they wouldn't let her continue to run at nothing.

_"Beckett, they _found_ him."_

By the time the call came in, she'd been away from the precinct for three hours, but in bed for less than one, having finally been unable to avoid crawling between sheets that hadn't been shared in far too long. At first, she'd thought they were talking about their case, the one they just hadn't quite made all the connections for yet. She was so damn glad to be wrong, though. So damn glad the hospital had faxed a picture to prove they weren't chasing down a ghost. She was so damn glad someone efficient was staffing the tip line desk and that they'd called the boys before anyone else. The FBI needed to be involved, of course, but finding Castle was about more than jurisdiction, it was about a man who was loved and missed so very much coming home to his family.

She woke Martha and Alexis before she'd even hung up the phone. After the first dead end tip had resulted in her sneaking out of the loft in the dead of night and scaring the living daylights out of them both, they had made a deal. Even if it turned out to be nothing, if a call came in the middle of the night, she woke them to let them know she was going.

This time, instead of being content to stay behind, both women met her downstairs and staunchly refused to do anything but come with her. If Ryan or Esposito were surprised to see three of them waiting outside the loft when they arrived twenty minutes later, they didn't show it.

It wasn't the most ideal drive she'd ever made. It was cramped sitting in the back of the Charger with Alexis between her and Martha as Kevin gave them the rundown he had gotten from the hospital in Warwick, Rhode Island, but she didn't care. She would sit for ten hours in a box if it meant bringing Castle home. She had a feeling they all would, Ryan and Espo included.

"Hey, Kev?" she called softly, doing her best not to disturb the others. Alexis had dozed off around 5:15 once there was no more information to be shared, and Martha followed about half an hour after that.

"Yeah, Beckett?" He glanced back, looking between the three of them carefully.

"You saw the picture… how bad is he?"

She could tell he had held things back earlier, carefully avoiding mentioning Castle's condition while giving them whatever other information he knew.

"From the picture? Pretty beat up. Looked like a broken nose, cuts all over his face."

She nodded slowly. "And the rest? Did they say anything else?"

Ryan swallowed, looking at Espo as if they'd been planning the best way to tell her bad news.

"Guys, what?" she insisted.

"Broken fingers. His leg's busted, too. That's all they told us,"

"But?" she prompted, waiting for whatever they weren't saying.

"But it could be worse than that. They also have no idea where he came from. It looks like he either jumped from a car or he was tossed… while it was moving. Cops picked him up when someone thought a deer had been hit and called it in."

Her stomach lurched.

"Was he conscious?"

"Not when they brought him in. He came around during their exam."

Esposito's eyes darted to her in the mirror. "He asked for you, Beckett. That's when it clicked for the nurse, and she contacted us."

She swallowed, rubbing her hand over her forehead. "Okay, that's… better than I was expecting."

Both men nodded. They'd all been expecting a coma or some other debilitating injury.

"What about local police? Are they looking for whoever d-dropped him off? Does he know who had him?"

"They said they'd get his statement once the docs let them. We put 'em in contact with the feebs. More manpower to look, less bureaucrapsy for us."

Ryan's affectionate nicknames had the desired effect. She managed a smile for him.

"Good call." She wanted to be on the team that got whoever did this, but not more than she needed to be at Castle's side.

"Figured we'd focus on getting to you to him and him to you," Javi added.

"Thanks guys." It was a feeble way of sharing her appreciation, but at six am, it was all she had.

"Hey, you know us. We also figure Castle'll probably let us have the Ferrari while you're on your honeymoon."

She swiped at her eyes, trying to banish the moisture from falling. "For this, he'll probably buy you guys your own."

"That'd be cool."

"We'd be okay with that."

It was a well-practiced response, but it made her smile anyway. She twisted her engagement ring quickly. She hadn't taken it off since her wedding day, except to bathe, and she wasn't going to move it until there was another ring joining it.

"Hey Beckett, why don't you rest or something until we get there? We'll be a little early for visiting hours."

"I don't care when we make it, they're letting me in," she growled, watching as the passing scenery grew lighter with each minute that went by.

Thankfully, Javi threw the gumball as they got closer. The road had been empty enough in the middle of the night not to need it, but as the morning progressed, they needed the ability to zip around the slower drivers. As the drive went on, she'd wondered more and more if Castle's life was still in danger. She was glad the locals were staying put at the hospital, but it didn't concern her any less. The faster they got to there, the better. She wouldn't give anyone the chance to come back and finish what they started.

She stopped herself from jumping out of the car as soon as they parked, instead turning to wake Martha and Alexis gently. Ryan and Esposito were already out of the car by the time the others opened their eyes.

"We're here," she murmured. "The guys are getting someone to tell us what's going on and if we can see him yet."

Alexis nodded slowly, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Okay. Let's go."

A glance at Martha yielded another affirmative. They agreed. No more waiting.

Espo met them just inside the ER doors, gesturing back behind the double doors quickly. "Ryan's tracking down a doc for you."

"Thanks, Javi."

She took a moment to lean on her friend before straightening and touching Martha's arm, offering her a hug. Alexis joined them half a second later.

The Castles, all of them, were huggers. It had taken some getting used to, but they were in this together. Three women who loved Richard Castle, a family. If they needed hugs to help make it through, hugs they would get.

"Beckett."

Her eyes popped open to find Ryan standing with a redhead in hunter green scrubs. He'd found a doctor. Thank God.

"Yes. Yes, Kate Beckett. Detective." She extended her hand to the doctor. "We are so glad you called, well contacted. How is he?"

"You're all family?"

"Yes. This is Rick's daughter and his mother. I'm his fiancée," she explained, standing a little taller to make sure her badge was also visible, just in case. "I hold his medical power of attorney. What can you tell us?"

Martha squeezed her waist in solidarity. It felt good to be able to say all of that. It felt good to have credibility again, instead of being treated like the grieving not-widow.

The doctor glanced between them again, but nodded.

Alexis stepped closer once more as the doctor outlined her father's more serious injuries, including the break to his nose, which they were concerned might actually need surgery.

"But you're monitoring him for now and you'll decide later if he needs the surgery?" Alexis asked when nobody else did.

"Right. We're getting him cleaned up and rehydrated and we'll see how he does throughout the day. After that we can discuss the options."

The three of them nodded. That was good news. If he wasn't being rushed into emergency surgery, that was good.

"When can we see him?" she asked, rubbing Martha's arm.

"It's normal policy to wait until visiting hours, but under the circumstances I'll make an exception. Give us another few minutes to finish splinting his fingers and make him comfortable in his room, and then we'll take you back."

Disappointment settled heavily on her shoulders, but she nodded anyway. It had been weeks already, she could handle another half an hour.

"Of course." She looped her arm around Alexis, squeezing her quickly. "We'll wait here."

"Actually," Ryan piped up, giving her a long look that said he was planning something. "He's a witness in our ongoing investigation; we need a cop to stay with him."

Oh, she could kiss him.

"Detective Ryan's right. I'll stay with him," she volunteered, before anyone could mention the local unis she was sure were guarding him. She earned twin nods of approval from Alexis and Martha and stepped forward. "Lead the way, Doctor."

Castle would be proud of her. He loved when she threw her weight around.

"He's just through here, Detective. We have him on light painkillers to take the edge off but keep him lucid enough for our tests."

She nodded, barely focusing on anything but the anticipation and excitement rolling around in her belly. There was a healthy amount of terror, too.

Somehow he managed to spot her first, and underneath the harsh shadows of bruises and cuts (and oh, his poor nose) she watched him light up. It made her heart stutter. Oh god, it was really him. She stumbled around the doc to get to him faster.

"Kate! Kate, Kate, Kate," he chanted, voice strained and somewhat nasally from the gauze they'd packed in his nose to stop the bleeding.

"I'm here, Castle," she assured, reaching for him from halfway across the room.

Ignoring the admonishments to be careful of his IV was easy when she was so close to him. Hurting him was the last thing on her mind.

"Oh God, Castle," she breathed, forcing the words beyond the tightness in her throat. Tears pricked her eyes as her fingers touched him finally. Her lips connected wherever they could, drinking him in, ignoring the tang of sweat and blood and everything else on his skin. He was here. He was here, alive and real, and saying her name.

Their mouths connected. Finally, finally, finally. Finally, she was able to swipe her lips across his and slick her tongue into his mouth. Finally, she was able to hold his face between her palms and kiss him over and over like a starving woman.

The throat clearing that followed his groan was just barely enough to break them apart, but somehow she managed to step back and smooth the pad of her thumb over his lip. He smiled, eyes watery, as his lips puckered against her thumb. It was all she could do not to lean in and drink another long kiss from his mouth, audience be damned.

"Are you okay?" The words came out as one. They were always on the same page, weren't they?

She dipped her head, feeling the tears she'd been holding in for so long slip down her face. His thumb swiped over her cheek, smoothing the salt water into her skin. She mirrored the gesture for him, sniffing quickly.

"You're okay. You're going to be okay."

It wasn't a request. It was an order, a directive she knew neither of them would dare to disobey.

"You, too, Kate," he promised, tugging her back in. This kiss was soft, far less frantic than their first few. This kiss was the kiss they shared in the mornings after a lazy round of lovemaking, before one of them rolled out of bed to get their coffee going. This kiss was a good kiss, a promise for more mornings to come.

As soon as it was over, he was commanded to sit still and allow them to finish splinting his broken fingers. He turned back, looking sheepish, but she simply sidled closer, pressing her face against him. Judging by the sections of darkened, matted hair, he had cuts on his head, too. She guessed either they had stopped bleeding on their own or the nurses had already stitched him up while he was unconscious. He didn't seem to be in any pain, though, so she didn't move away, just made sure to be gentle with him.

She needed to ask him what happened. She needed to have a direction for her to do her job, to find whoever did this to him and make them pay. She wouldn't ask, though, not until they were alone.

"I love you," she whispered, lips sliding over the greasy strands of his hair. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Love you, too, Kate. I love you, too."

She wiped her eyes quickly. "Your mom and Alexis are here. They had to wait outside. I'm your police protection. No offense to you guys," she acknowledged the local cops finally, receiving twin nods in return.

When he smiled, she decided to slide onto the gurney with him. It was an indelicate, unprofessional, and probably immature move, but she didn't care. Castle didn't care, she didn't care.

"Ryan and Esposito are here, too," she added quietly, trying not to watch the doctor manipulate her fiancé's broken digits. His leg was already in a cast – bright green, of course – from the knee down, which made her feel somewhat better. He was already starting the healing process. That was good.

She slid her fingers through his hair carefully, trying to offer her own brand of healing.

"Good," he hummed, leaning into her hand. He was tired. She could tell by the way his shoulders slumped and the way his head kept dipping. He was hanging in there, though. "Hey, where are my clothes? You'll need those for evidence, right?"

"Yeah we will," she confirmed, kissing his temple gently to keep him still. She glanced around the room only to have the doctor nod to a bag on a chair in the corner.

"Everything he was wearing when he came in is in there. We salvaged as much as we could, but some of it was pretty ripped up already."

"Thanks," she rubbed Castle's neck. "It's there, Castle, we got it."

"It's not my tux. That got ruined," he murmured, giving her an apologetic look she couldn't help but kiss. She wanted to ask him who had given him the new clothes, but he was already talking again, "I managed to save our marriage license, though. Hid it in my underwear. Hopefully it's still okay. Wanna get hitched?"

Oh, _Castle_.

"Yes, yes I do," she promised, resting her forehead on his cheek before he could see her eyes mist over again. "But when you're wearing pants and not concussed." She touched his leg, brushing the edge of his hospital gown for emphasis.

"Bright green cast okay?"

"Mhmm, bright green cast and all."

"Good."

She smiled softly. "Good." She waited a beat, eyes locked on his face. "I'll even wear eye black so we match."

It was a gamble, making the joke, but it worked. He grinned and the movement was enough to banish the memory of whatever else he'd lived through from his eyes.

"You would _mock_ your husband-to-be's injuries, Beckett? I'm hurt."

They both knew he wasn't, but still she pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to one of the dark smudges under his eyes.

"It could be football-themed. Maybe we could have the ceremony on the 50-yard line at MetLife Stadium."

"Please, Beckett. We're not Jets fans, don't be insulting."

She couldn't resist tasting his grin. She had a feeling there would be many things she wouldn't be able to resist doing now that he was home. She wanted him to share in her joy.

"We'll figure it out," she vowed.

"Don't we always?"

Yeah they did. They always did.

He reached for her hand silently, carefully slotting their fingers together. The fit wasn't perfect; his wide fingers stretched her hand in a way that probably should've been uncomfortable, but somehow the imperfections made it just right. All the empty spaces were filled.

Yes, she had questions – dozens, hundreds of them – but for now she was going to be grateful to have him home. No more, no less. No questions, no manhunts, just him.


	7. DVR Management

**DVR Management**

_**Future!Fic- ish**_

_**No spoilers**_

_**Prompted by amtepe on tumblr: Kate + Castle's DVR**_

* * *

"Now, you're sure you'll be okay?"

Normally the question would be sweet. In fact, it _had_ been sweet the first seven times he asked. Now that they were onto the eighth repetition, though, she has to fight not to roll her eyes.

"Castle, babe, stop. I'm _fine_. Go to your meeting." She wipes her nose quickly, trying to spare him the carnage of seeing her snot. He loves her, she loves him, and because of that, she isn't going to subject him to this any more than necessary. "It's a cold. A disgusting, unpleasant, snotty cold. That's all. I'm going to sit here, drink my tea, and blow my nose. And since I want you to still be attracted to me when all this is over, go to your meeting."

What would have normally sounded authoritative and firm just sounds nasally and petulant. Damn.

She sighs, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

"Well first of all, even your nose blowing is cute, but I'll let your moment of insanity slide because you're sick. Second, I'm going. I'm just making sure you'll be comfortable. It's a cold and you're miserable, and it sucks that you can't take anything."

Damn right it does. She loves this kid more than the world, but not being able to guzzle NyQuil and sleep this cold off is just awful.

"Yeah," she huffs, rubbing her belly quickly. "But I'm okay, Castle, I really am. I'm going to watch TV and sleep. Go to your negotiations. Give 'em hell, you know what you're worth, yadda yadda."

Castle chuckles softly, leaning in to kiss her.

"_Doon't_, I'm going to get you sick."

He steals another kiss anyway before letting her squirm into her blanket cocoon. "I sleep beside you, Kate; if I'm going to get sick, I'm gonna get sick."

Well, he has a point there.

"Okay, okay. Then make it a good one." She tugs him closer, kissing him until the need to breathe wins out. Damn her stuffy nose.

"Sorry," she mutters, blowing her nose again. "I _would_ end up sick more in the last few months than I have in years. Isn't pregnancy supposed to make you healthy and glowy? TV lied to me."

Castle's lips land on her forehead. They're cool to her, but she has a feeling that's the cold messing with her body temperature.

"You glow most of the time, Kate, just not right now."

"Yeah, yeah, hand me the remote and get out of here."

It lands in her hand with a satisfying smack.

"Rest," he warns softly, grabbing his jacket off the back of the other chair.

"Yes, _Dad_."

"Eww, not your dad, Beckett, that's gross," he calls. It carries through the loft as he slinks out the front door, leaving her finally, blissfully alone.

She loves her husband, she loves her mother-in-law, but between the two of them these last few days, she's being driven insane. Overall, Castle has been calm throughout the pregnancy – far calmer than she has – but as soon as her sinuses started to drain, he kicked into coddling overdrive, bringing Martha along for the ride. She's pregnant and sick, and miserable though the latter is, their hovering might just be worse. Sure, it was nice at first, being pampered and told not to lift a finger. But it's been three days of this ridiculous head cold and she just wants to take an hour and relax without being asked how she's feeling.

At least she has the TV. The DVR won't tell her she should put her feet up or offer her disgusting "natural" remedies to banish the illness. Their hearts are in the right places, but the DVR doesn't have a heart and that makes it even better right now.

Of course, one look at the nearly full DVR has her asking what the hell they record.

She scrolls through the list, watching in horror as each title is more atrocious than the last. Is _this_ what Castle does all day when he's not at work with her? Some of this stuff is just _awful_.

"Seriously, Castle? You recorded _Maury_. A _year_ ago?"

She sighs, pressing her palm to her belly. "Your daddy warned me once, little one. I should've listened; this DVR really does make my old one look like Masterpiece Theater. It looks like he has at least a season of Teen Mom 2, maybe more, so that should be goo –" The rest of her grumble is lose in a fit of coughing. "I'm not going to lie to you, kid, this is pretty gross. And I know it's only going to get worse when you arrive because your grandmother has already described it to me, but at least we get you out of the deal then. With this, I just get sleepy."

Her hand slides over her shirt again as she scrolls a few more times. A few titles make her groan, a few make her lift an eyebrow. Bad sci-fi, too, Castle? Really? Well, at least this one doesn't sound terrible. Temptation Lane isn't on for another 2 hours, so she's out of options. She might as well try it.

"Okay, baby, let's see what this movie's got for us. How bad could it be?"

She takes a slow sip of her peppermint tea, hoping to one day be able to taste it again, before starting the movie.

It turns out, how bad it could be is really, _really_ bad. The plot is ridiculous; damn near impossible to follow, too, and the acting is wooden. Someone actually paid money to make this? Even more baffling is why her husband, the man who whines about Nebula 9, decided to record it.

They're going to have a talk about DVR management when he gets home.

And, of course, she can't even nap now because she has to see how this train wreck of a movie turns out. She has to see how many of these stupid characters make it through to the end – through no merit of their own.

"Idiots," she mutters. "Don't go _that_ way. This is why half of you are dead. Because you're dumb."

She blows her nose quickly, tossing the tissue onto the top of an already pathetically large pile. Not that she misses any great dialog in the short time her ears are occupied. She could've blown her nose for an hour and been fine. Being sick sucks, but this movie somehow manages to suck more.

Ugh, she can't keep subjecting herself and her unborn child to this misery. There has to be something on Castle's list of recordings that isn't terrible.

"If your daddy ever tells you his taste is better than mine because I like Nebula 9, he is _lying,_ baby. Don't let him pretend."

In the end, there's not a damn thing she deems more appealing than this stupid movie her husband has recorded. The remote lands unceremoniously beside the tissue box. There isn't much time left anyway, maybe it'll miraculously get better, or everyone will die and the bad guys will take over and make Earth a smarter place.

Or, she'll manage to pass out. Her eyes are getting a little bit heavy.

It's the latter, thankfully. Not that she feels very grateful to wake up on a half-snore with drool sliding slowly down her neck. Another attractive look for Kate Beckett today. Why is it so disgusting to be sick? Why can't she be one of those women who still looks flawless, regardless of how much snot is running from her nose?

"Ugh. This is not sexy."

"Well maybe it's not to many men, but I happen to be a special breed of man who finds drool to be a turn on."

She jumps at his voice, lifting her head to find him perched on the arm of her chair. "Jeez, Castle. You scared me. Are you home early or did I sleep that long?"

He smiles softly. "Looks like you slept that long. I've been home for over an hour."

"Oh."

Swiping at her neck is just gross, but it has to be done.

"And now, I'm going to get you some homemade chicken soup for dinner. So don't worry about a thing."

Her stomach rumbles pitifully in reminder that baby wants more than crackers and toast.

"Sounds delicious."

He beams. "More tea?"

"Mmm, please." She holds the half-empty mug out to him.

Their fingers slide over one another, reminding her of dozens of coffee hand offs over the years and how each touch was a kiss they weren't quite ready to share yet. Now they have both. Or they will again, once she stops spewing mucus.

Castle's lips touch her hair gently – they probably shouldn't; she hasn't had the energy to shower in the last couple of days – before he retreats.

"How was your meeting?" she calls, twisting in an attempt to watch him move around the kitchen through the open shelves.

"It was good. The contracts are with the lawyers now for finalizing."

"Good. Did you get everything you wanted? The stuff that was within reason anyway?" It hurts her throat to yell but getting up sounds so unappealing.

"Mmm, may have. But I'll keep that a surprise until later."

"Oh, intriguing."

Castle grins. "What about you? Did you fall asleep right after I left?"

She stretches, giving in to moving to continue the conversation they're having and standing. The blanket stays wrapped around her shoulders as she gathers her tissues to dispose of them. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

"About an hour after, I guess. And by the way, we need to talk."

Her husband looks panicked. "About what? What's wrong?"

The tissues land in the trash before she holds up the remote she'd grabbed by accident. "Do you _know_ how much crap you've recorded, Castle?"

He laughs. No, he chortles. That's a good word for what he does.

"It's not funny. Do you know what your terrible recording habits subjected your unborn child to earlier? There's nothing that's not awful on the DVR."

Castle grins again, tilting his head and reaching for her. "Peanut doesn't mind. And don't lie, Beckett, you loved an afternoon of terrible TV."

His large hands slide over her belly.

"Maybe so, but really? The entire season of Teen Mom?"

"A cautionary tale for both Alexis and this one," he explains, his thumb making slow swipes over her t-shirt. She rolls her eyes at that.

"I think we can manage to parent instead of letting MTV do it, thanks. And year old Maury?"

"Character research."

Her head settles on his chest. "Can we at _least_ clear some space for more Temptation Lane? Get something that's tastefully trashy recording?"

He chuckles, resting his chin on her head.

"Whatever you want, Beckett. You're the new DVR management team."

She likes the sound of that.


	8. Bittersweet

**Title:** Bittersweet

**Pairing:** Caskett, Alexis/OMC

**Rating:** K+, I suppose. Sad themes, a naughty word here or there, nothing too adult.

**Category:** Angst, AU, Missing!Castle, did I mention Angst?

**Timeline:** Post 6x23 AU

**Prompt:** A Castle/Beckett fic to accompany the song "Just One Day" by Jenn Bostic.

—-

"Hey."

The greeting is soft enough, but it stirs her from the window seat anyway. Her visitor obviously didn't mean to startle her, but she's spent too much time looking out at the water already, contemplating hundreds of "what if"s and "if only"s when she should've been getting ready.

It's her big day.

"Hey," she exhales, smoothing nervous fingers down her white dress. It's poofier than she'd hoped for, one of the many concessions she's made in the last year of wedding planning, but it's still a gorgeous dress.

"Thought I'd come check on you."

"Thanks, I started thinking and I just couldn't stop."

Her admission is met with a soft, sad smile. "Yeah, same here. Lots of memories."

Her throat tightens painfully. "Yeah."

"Hey, hey, don't. None of that today." Swift fingers wipe under her eyes, catching her mascara before it can run. "It's a happy day."

It is. It should be, anyway, but beneath it all, it doesn't feel very festive.

It was a bad idea, doing this here. She should've fought harder, put her foot down to go elsewhere. The convenience isn't worth the heartache.

She shouldn't have given up. Not this time, not then.

"I miss him, Kate," her voice breaks pitifully. "I miss him so much. I never thought – I thought he'd be the one in here blubbering while I was calm and you mocked him mercilessly."

Her father's fiancée – wife, because they'd been married in every way except that damn piece of paper – tugs her closer, smoothing her fingers over the loose strands of her hair and down her back.

"I know, Alexis. I know. Me, too," Kate soothes, sounding for all the world like she's barely hanging onto her own emotions. "If I could change anything, you know I would. You know I'd bring him back somehow. I'd put his blubbering, overprotective ass in front of you in a heartbeat."

And she would. She'd do it for her. Not even for herself and the decade old wedding-that-wasn't in this very spot. No, Kate Beckett would do it for her. To give her a day, an hour, with her dad again.

But she can't, and her father's still gone. The plot in the cemetery's still empty, marked with a memorial instead of a headstone, but it's been ten years; he's never coming back, not even in a body bag.

"I know, Kate. I know. I would too."

Her companion offers her a watery smile when they release each other. A second later, Kate's chin lowers as she swallows.

"How's this for weepy? On his level?"

"Getting there," she tries to joke back. They can make it, they can. They've made it this far. "You haven't done the retrospective of my childhood yet."

"Damn, I'm slipping."

They laugh together, taking a moment to remember her father, his love, and the antics that accompanied that big heart of his. In front of her, Kate sniffs, but they both keep it together.

"He adored you, Alexis. He adores you still, wherever he is. If he were here, he would say he's so proud of you. And that you look so beautiful."

"Thanks," she breathes. Restless fingers press the dress down again. "I kind of feel like a cupcake."

Beckett laughs softly. "You look beautiful, cupcake or not. Now, let's fix your makeup quickly. I don't want Glenn's mom blaming me for making you late."

As light as Kate attempts to make the words, it's obvious both of them are thinking about the last wedding held here and the man who was late.

"Right. She finally stopped giving me heavy sighs about you walking me down the aisle."

It's a non-traditional arrangement that her fiancé's well-meaning – but staunchly traditional – mother doesn't quite understand, but without her father, there's no one else she'd have with her. She wouldn't have even met Glenn if not for Kate, she wouldn't have pursued the relationship if not for their late night talks on the couch. It's only right that she have Kate beside her moments before she gets married.

"As long as you're happy, I'll be wherever you need me to be," the older woman promises. "I'll even keep Martha from rolling her walker over your mom's foot at the reception."

"That'd be nice." Swiping at her eyes, she faces her reflection. "She came to see me earlier, they both did."

Kate nods. They're both still worried about the eldest in their little three-woman circus; Martha's broken foot is slowly getting better, but the wounds of losing her son have yet to heal. Alexis and Kate both know the feeling.

"Separately I'd hope," Kate quips, efficiently smoothing a displaced piece of hair before handing her a compact of powder.

"Oh yeah. It was a good visit. With both of them."

"Good."

Kate checks the delicate watch on her wrist – a gift from Alexis' father, no doubt – giving her a smile in the mirror. "Almost show time," she murmurs. She reaches into the tailored suit jacket pocket. "I have something for you."

"You do?"

She looks nervous, like she worries the words won't come out right. Words had been Castle's job, after all. "Your grandmother gave me these as I was getting ready… that day," she clears her throat. "They were hers, her mom's, and her mom's mom's. She told me only women of substance have worn them. There's nobody else I'd give them to but you."

"Kate –"

Beckett shakes her head. "I know I'm not your mom, but you're the only kid I kind of have, so they're yours, Alexis. We're family. Your dad's ring is the only one I'm going to wear, so unless he comes bursting in here and we have a really soapy double wedding, or you want me to hold onto them until your future daughter's old enough…"

Covering Kate's hand, feeling the scrape of the engagement ring she still hasn't taken off after ten years, Alexis shakes her head. "I love them. I remember asking Gram about them when I was little. She said I'd wear them when the time was right."

Beckett nods, pressing her lips together quickly. "Good." Kate holds the box steady for her while she makes the switch, taking her discarded pearls gently.

"They're beautiful, Alexis. Made for you."

The smile they share is bittersweet.

"Thank you, Kate. Thank you for staying after dad… for not giving up on him, or on me."

Kate's forehead lands against hers gently. "I'm staying put for a long time to come. We stick together remember? For your dad and for each other. It keeps him with us and it keeps us with him."

Yeah it does. She nods in wordless agreement.

"Now come on," Beckett croaks, emotion getting the better of her. "Let's go make him proud and get you married. What do you say?"

"Okay," she whispers, sucking in a deep breath. "Okay, let's do it."

Her heart's still heavy, but she's more than sure her father's right there with them as they make their way down the aisle. She doesn't get another day to hug him or hear his laugh. Kate doesn't get the chance to tell him she loves him or she wants to expand the family with him. They can't make that happen for each other, but still, she feels her dad's warmth and she thinks Kate might too, judging by the look on her face. It's like he's smiling right at them. Like he's dragging them both into one of his cheek-mashing bear hugs and holding them against his chest, laughing as they try to squirm away.

Maybe that's enough.


	9. Like A Baby Chainsaw

**Like A Baby Chainsaw**

_Pairing: Caskett_

_Rating: K+_

_Category: Romance, Humor_

_Timeline: Somewhere in mid-to-late-season 5, but nothing fixed._

_For fembot77, who prompted:_** Beckett snores**

* * *

The first time it happened, he'd attributed it to the day; to the tears she'd shed as she made her whispered apologies for making him wake up alone _again_, to her emotional explanation for going after Bracken alone, to all the nose blowing she'd done when she thought he wasn't looking. He hadn't thought anything about it, not really. It was natural. And it didn't really matter, because she was there in his arms when she could very easily have been on a slab in Lanie's (or worse, Perlmutter's) morgue or holed up in her apartment alone, drowning in her mother's case, determined to take out a US Senator singlehandedly.

The second time, he'd assumed allergies. It was fall and the numbers for ragweed were up; he'd heard her complaining about pollen in the past. It was no big deal, he'd thought. It would pass. He was smart enough not to ask her about it, though, considering she didn't _look_ sick. Still he'd made sure to stock his medicine cabinet with three or four different types of over the counter allergy and cold medications, just in case she needed one when they were at his place. He was a thoughtful boyfriend like that.

Once the ragweed and the pollen went dormant, though, it didn't stop. It didn't happen often, but it still didn't stop. Of course, he couldn't be sure that she wasn't silently suffering some sort of ailment, but he also couldn't see any outward reason for it to happen like it did.

All he knew was his girlfriend – his strong, amazing, perfectly imperfect girlfriend – sometimes _snored_ like an industrial grade lawn mower.

Not cute little snuffles. Not even a quiet hum. No, it was a full-on, window rattling, freight train on the tracks, chainsaw and leaf blower cacophony that he was sure would result in complaints from the building across the street if they weren't careful. How that sound could come from one woman, he still hadn't figured out.

He'd at least pinpointed _when_ it was most likely to happen. Mostly. Long cases were the usual culprit. Cases that drove her to the edge emotionally and physically. Those were the nights when she dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep and released the kraken.

Knowing when it would happen didn't help him sleep, though. In fact, the anticipation might have even made it worse.

His first attempt to remedy the situation failed. The new pillows were nice, of course, but even as comfortable as they were, Kate wouldn't sleep propped up, and it didn't work with only one. Her head wasn't positioned right to get her to stop sawing logs.

He'd tried snuggling, spooning her securely, thinking sleeping on her side would help quiet the noise. It hadn't. Even with her facing away from him, mouth half mashed into her pillow, the snoring continued. Not to mention, nearly every time he'd tried the spooning trick, she pushed him onto his back in the middle of the night and pressed her face into his neck.

It wasn't unpleasant to have her pressed against him, but with her that close to his ear and with the firm arm around his waist trapping him in place, he all-but gave up on sleeping. He knew she always noticed his lethargy the next day, but telling her she'd kept him awake because she sounded like a derailed train would only end badly for him. So, wisely, he kept his mouth shut and tried to stifle the urge to use one of the new pillows to smother himself (or her) the next time it happened.

He loved her. He just also happened to be considering making an appointment with an ENT specialist for her. For his sake if nothing else.

"Dad, why don't you tell her?" His daughter asked one night when she and his mother came home from a late show and caught him dozing in the living room with his laptop half open on his legs. He'd promised to come to bed more than a few hours ago, but when Kate had slipped into her chainsaw sleep cycle, he'd found himself hanging back. The chapter he'd yet to finish had made for a good excuse, and the main room of the loft was just far enough away most of the time.

"You know she'd try to figure something out if she knew you were miserable," Alexis added, perching on the arm of the couch.

A particularly loud snort from his bedroom made them both wince.

Yes, he could say something to Kate, but he had no doubt she'd be mortified if he did. He didn't want that. He didn't want her to be embarrassed to sleep beside him. And he wasn't miserable; he could never be when he was with Beckett. He was just _tired_.

"I'm okay, pumpkin. Just writing."

"Uh huh, and hiding from Beckett. I didn't… know she could make that noise."

"Yeah, me either." He exhaled as they lapsed into silence. Near silence. There was still Beckett in the background.

"What about those strips for your nose? Those are supposed to help, right?" His daughter suggested finally.

Lifting an eyebrow, he glanced between Alexis and his bedroom. "She's not that heavy a sleeper. I'd definitely wake her if I tried to stick one of those on her nose."

Alexis rolled her eyes. "You could try asking her to wear one, Dad."

He could, but he wanted to live to get laid again. If she didn't shoot him for asking, she'd definitely promise him they were never having sex again.

"I'll figure something out," he promised, patting her knee. "Now, Gram's already upstairs. You go on, too. Text me if you can hear the leaf blower symphony from there."

"Sure. Try to get some sleep," she reminded softly, kissing the top of his head once she was on her feet. "Even if you have to use earplugs."

Earplugs. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner? He only had basic ones, but he had a feeling he could order some heavy duty, standing on a tarmac around a jet engine earplugs, too. If they were safe for turbofan engines, they had to be Beckett-proof, too.

"You're a genius, daughter," he whisper-called to her back. His fingers flew over the keys, searching for industrial grade earplugs to purchase and have rush shipped.

The things he did for the woman he loved.

Thankfully, the noise had died to a dull buzz by the time he'd located his temporary earplugs and slid into bed, because Kate closed the distance between them as soon as his back hit the sheets. Slinging her arm across his chest, she took her rightful place against him. He loved that she was a cuddler, even if it meant he was holding his breath waiting for the racket to begin again.

Instead, he felt a contented hum rumbling through her, followed by blissful silence.

Thank god, he might get some sleep after all.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he commanded his mind to shut off and let him drift while it still could.

* * *

"Castle. _Castle_."

Blearily, he felt one eyelid peel back on its own accord. "Wha?"

She looked beautiful and rested, but somehow still mildly annoyed. Well that wasn't good.

"Castle, why are you wearing earplugs? I went to kiss you and I got a mouthful of plastic cord."

"I, ah," he cut himself off to yawn into one hand, plucking the earplug she hadn't removed out of his ear with the other. A halfhearted toss landed them on his nightstand, hopefully not to be needed again for a little while, given that it was already 7 am. "Sorry. Mother was loud when they got home last night. You were sound asleep; I don't even think you noticed."

"Oh," she murmured, pressing her lips against his jaw. "Sorry she woke you. Go back to sleep, I'll make you coffee in a little bit."

"Thanks, Beckett," he murmured, already surrendering to the pull of actual sleep. It was Saturday; he was allowed.

"And sorry if I snored a little bit," she added, resting her cheek on his chest. "I know I do sometimes, especially when I'm that worn out."

"You?" he scoffed drowsily, rubbing his hand down her back idly. "Never."

A little white lie never hurt anyone, right? Besides, he'd tell her the truth eventually, once she was no longer packing in the nightstand.

Maybe in forty or fifty years, just to be on the safe side.

After that ENT appointment.

* * *

_A/N: I hope this makes up for being so mean last chapter!_


	10. The Art of War

**lousiemcdoogle asked: Ficlet prompt: In the AU!verse, when Captain Beckett catches Castle in the interrogation room, he employs the same distraction technique he used on Gates in 7.02**

* * *

**The Art of War**

"Mr. _Castle!_"

It's not so much her words that have him leaping out of his skin, it's the tone. She's, jeez, she's _Gates_ in this moment. She's never been Gates. Except for maybe that day in the library when she came storming in, her face, neck, and chest flushed with indignation and anger that he'd pulled one over on her. After that day, though, her admonishments always held some measure of amusement, even affection.

Suffice to say, he's glad the ceilings in the twelfth precinct are high, because Beckett – _Captain Beckett_ – would've been calling a crew to help him out of the rafters if they weren't. He's fairly certain he jumped a foot or two in the air, maybe three.

Jeez, she's _scarier_ than Gates. She's all hardened steel, her back ramrod straight, the long lines of her body wrapped up in that power suit like chainmail. It's terrifying and enticing all at once.

And hot. Definitely hot. Something about the way her lips purse and her brow pinches a little bit is enough to make him stutter.

"Hey. I was – I just … um…"

There goes the eyebrow. Oh, she's not amused. He swallows hard. This is, okay this is a lot harder than he expected it to be. She's supposed to like him, at least a little, but she's not budging a bit.

"Mr. Castle, were you or were you not escorted out of my squad room?"

Well, technically he _was_. He just doubled back using the stairwell she showed him her second day back after suspension two years ago (and oh what a wonderful tour that was), hid upstairs for forty-five minutes, and returned.

"I, ah, yes. Yes I was, but the _funny _thing is – " he stops abruptly as she advances. She doesn't look amused in the slightest. "Okay, maybe it's not that funny, but I – "

He backs up, but she keeps coming toward him. Any other time he might be a smartass and remind her to close and lock the observation room door before she plays with him like this, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut this time.

"Beckett, wait. I was just watching. What's the harm in that?"

"The _harm_ is that you don't listen. And I already know you're going to try to take whatever it is you've heard in there and run off half-cocked, so Mr. Castle, you are under arrest for obstruction of a police investigation, trespassing, and generally being a pain in my ass."

And there are her handcuffs. Okay, he can change her mind about this. He can absolutely change her mind.

He starts with crossing his arms over his chest protectively. If she can't reach his wrists, she can't cuff him, right? Maybe not, but it'll work in a pinch.

Second, he offers her a docile smile, hoping to ease her agitation. Her cheek twitches a little at the effort, but she's still brandishing her cuffs – and not in a way that says they're going to have fun – so that's another failure for him.

She's close enough now for him to feel the heat radiating from her. He's out of time, but not quite out of ideas.

It's risky, but he'll give it a try. She'd said the enemy might go nuclear if he tried this one again, but she was talking about Gates… mostly.

_"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."_

Kate has fast reflexes, but she isn't prepared for him to unfold his arms and take her cheeks between his palms. She isn't prepared for his mouth to lower onto hers, or his tongue to make slow swipes across her no-nonsense-beige painted lips in hopes that she'll let him in. She isn't prepared for the supersized Richard Castle Tactical Smooch.

She starts, though, her skin jumping under his fingers, but the knee to the crotch he'd been fearing doesn't come. No, she presses closer, mouth opening under his and a harsh groan vibrates against his lips.

Her tongue pushes into his mouth, sweeping the ridges of his teeth and sliding against the roof of his mouth. He mimics the action, sliding his tongue against hers.

There's a clatter as his back hits a table or a cart or something, but the knee Beckett slides between his legs helps him to forget it. He might have a bruise later, but who cares? He might die from this sooner than that, anyway.

There's no missing the groan that comes from her lips, though. She might be dying along with him after this kiss.

His thumbs slide over her cheeks, fingers delving toward her hair only to stop. No messing with her hair. Tactical smooches, yes, hair remodeling, no. The moment of hesitation doesn't stop her from gripping the back of his neck, nails flashing in time with a tug on his lip and a nip of her teeth. He wanted a war; she's bringing the war to him.

So he does the first thing that comes to mind, he slows it down. Curling his fingers at the base of her skull, his mouth flattens against hers. No more attack kissing, no more onslaught of teeth and tongue. Just slow, easy kisses.

Beckett breathes his name, sounding like the woman he's going to marry for the first time since she said she'd never laid eyes on him. He has her; he has to have her after this. She'll let him help, they'll find the artifact together. They'll –

_Click._

She breaks the kiss, so suddenly his eyes pop open and her reason for doing so sinks in. She – he – how'd he miss the cool metal of the cuffs going around his wrists? How did this backfire on him so thoroughly?

He can only gawk. She _cuffed_ him. She's actually _arresting_ him.

Beckett backs away, licking her lips. She meets his eyes for just a moment before looking away. He got to her, but definitely not the way he expected he would.

Still, her voice is husky when she finally speaks,

"Come with me, Mr. Castle."


	11. The One With The List

**The One With The List**

**Prompt** from always-caskett-41319 on tumblr: a similar story line to the Friend's episode "The One With The List" but Caskett and it obviously turns out better than it did for Ross and Rachel. You're choice on who writes the list.

_A/N: We'll go ahead and call this a season 3 AU. For the purpose of this fic, assume Knockdown happened before _Poof! You're Dead_ and _Nikki Heat_, and that Josh and Kate ended after the events of _Knockdown_. This fic picks up mid-P!YD._

* * *

_"No, nothing is is fine. Everything is … just fine. It's ordinary. Problem is, I don't want ordinary. I want –"_

_"Magic."_

She'd been right, of course. For all he teased her about being in her own Diva world, Martha Rodgers was remarkably astute about his life sometimes. He wanted magic, he wanted extraordinary. He wanted everything his first attempt at marriage with Gina had lacked, and everything this bruised ego-driven second try at a relationship never had a hope of having.

He wanted the zing that ran up and down his spine when she teased, when he gave as good as he got in return. He wanted the scent of cherries on his clothes and the taste of spice and coffee on his tongue. He wanted everything that kiss – oh, that kiss – they'd shared weeks ago promised they could have. Hell, he wanted her absentminded humming as they shared dish duty and the sound of her laugh when he inevitably started a bubble fight.

But it was a risk, all of it was a risk.

He used to take those.

"Okay, kiddo, enough of this," his mother's hand waved in time with her pause, "whatever this is. She's single, you could be too, so you're going to decide whether you should be with her or not."

Ah yes, his mother was still talking, wasn't she.

"And how am I going to do that?" he asked, bemused.

"You're going to make a list. All the reasons to break up with Gina, all the reasons to stay in this… ordinary relationship with Gina. All the reasons to… pursue something with – "

"Mother, I'm not going to make a pro-con list for this. Do you remember how that worked out for Ross on Friends?" Shaking his head vigorously, he nudged her proffered pencil away. "No thank you. I prefer my body to remain intact, which will not happen if Beckett finds out."

Ignoring him, his mother took it upon herself to draw three lines down the page, labeling the top of each column with two initials: GP, GC, BP, BC.

"Give me a pro for your ex-wife, Richard."

"I'm not going to pla –"

"A pro," she insisted.

"History," he sighed, dropping his head a bit. "We have history."

Nodding, his mother scribbled it down, taking care to add it to the "con" side as well. Well, that was probably accurate, too. Half of their fights had involved the words "it's just like when we were married."

"Another," she ordered, giving him no room to argue.

"Uh, it's a comfortable relationship, I guess. She knows me, knows you, knows Alexis."

His mother nodded again, patting his hand in approval. "And _I_ will just say the con of that is that it is _boring_."

The snort made its way out before he could stop it. Again, she wasn't wrong about that.

"Another pro," she requested, barely looking up from the paper.

"For Gina?"

"Yes, Richard." His mother pursed her lips. "Here, I have one: she can be quite thoughtful sometimes, can't she?"

"Yes, yes she can. Like with the spa day you girls had, and the tickets for Alexis."

"Uh huh. What other positive things can you think of about her?"

After a moment passed in silence, his mother looked up expectantly. "Richard?"

"I'm thinking." It sounded weak to his own ears. It shouldn't be _that_ hard to come up with nice things to say about the woman he was dating. Especially things that weren't appearance-based.

Rolling her eyes, Martha continued writing – in the "con" column mostly. Oh, that wasn't good.

Finally, he was able to come up with a few more good things, shallow though some of them were. He was reasonably sure his mother's applause was sarcastic, but he'd take it.

"Now, onto Beckett. A con, Richard."

"But I didn't do cons for Gina?"

Waving her hand, she urged him on. "I took care of it for you. Now Beckett. A con?"

If she ever found out he was doing this, Beckett would flay him. "Um, she's… well she's stubborn. And she's completely maddening sometimes. Challenging, too. Frustrating as all hell."

"Uh huh," his mother hummed, scribbling his words in the column, though he sees her drawing an arrow to the "pro" area for one. "More?"

"I, well, she doesn't let me in. Not unless I badger and poke and prod until she gives in usually. Did I mention she drives me crazy?"

Interesting, more arrows. Well… maybe those things were also part of what he liked about her, too.

"Anything else?"

Once again, he comes up empty. He'd even liked her hair last year when it was growing out.

"Ah, no. No that's… my con list."

Humming again, his mother turned to the next column. "Now the pros."

For the next five minutes she wrote, sometimes asking him to slow down, even needing to flip the paper over when they ran out of room. He should've felt shame lick at his spine over how easily the great things about Beckett flew from his mouth – especially compared to the way he'd had to fight for half a page of compliments about a woman he'd once married – but he didn't.

Shit, he saw his mother's point.

Martha's hand covered his, squeezing tightly. "The heart wants what the heart wants, kiddo. You wanted sizzle? Magic? Sparks? I think you've got spar – "

In that moment, more than just his love life clicked into place. "Organophosphates. Sparks." Off his mother's confused look, he continued. "It wasn't a nerve agent. It was jet oil. Zalman was at an airport."

"Richard, what? I don't understa – "

Eagerly, he took the paper from her hand, folding it and stuffing it into his back pocket. He would deal with that later. "I gotta go. You're a genius, Mother."

"And don't you forget it, kiddo." Of course she could still preen, even as confused as she was.

* * *

He put it out of his mind for as long as he could, but even a day later his heart still hammered from that moment he'd had with Beckett while watching FAA footage and he knew he had to revisit The List. To revisit the point his mother had made.

As terrible as it was to do it over the phone, it was better to get it out of the way instead of dragging it out and making them both – all three of them in some ways – miserable for longer.

For her part, Gina took it well. Not that he'd been expecting any different from her. No, there were no tears, no threats of removing his balls because he's an asshole, nothing besides a weary sigh and a request that he both take care of himself _and_ try to get her his chapters soon.

Of course, she hadn't been able to resist the parting shot, _"Tell her already, Rick, it's just ridiculous at this point," _as she ended the call.

If only it were that simple.

Imagine his mortification when he returned to find Beckett leaning against her desk, holding that ridiculous _list_ his mother forced him to write between her fingers.

His steps faltered, but he played it cool. "Ah, Beckett, hey."

Her lip dropped from between her teeth. "Hey, Castle. I uh, this fell out of your pocket… when you answered the phone. I thought it might be… book notes or something. Sorry," she added, averting her eyes quickly.

"Ah, no, it's… my mother…" he stumbled, scraping a hand over his face. "It's a long story."

"It's a pro-con list about me and Gina, Castle, how long of a story is it, really?" her retort came quickly, but instead of being furious, she honestly sounded… amused?

"You're not going to shoot me?" He backed up anyway, just to be on the safe side.

"Because you called me stubborn, closed off, and frustrating?" Her eyebrow shot up almost playfully.

"Well… it's not… the most flattering thing I could've said."

"You said a few flattering things, too."

His cheeks reddened again. He'd said a lot of things about her. A _lot_ of things his mother probably shouldn't have ever heard.

"So," she started, getting to her feet. "Why don't we see if we can catch the comfort food truck and you can tell me this story while we eat?"

Macaroni and cheese? Warm biscuits? Hot chocolate? And a date – was it a date? It sounded like a date to him – with Kate Beckett?

"How could I say no?"

That was answer enough to earn him a grin from his partner as she squirmed into her coat. "You really can't. The alternative might be me shooting you."

He doubted that, but he wasn't stupid enough to want to find out. Throwing his coat on, he matched her strides to the elevator.

"Hey, I wanted to say thanks, for, um… not mentioning that article or asking what was going on. At least until you found that thing, that is."

To his surprise, as soon as the elevator doors slid closed, her arm laced with his and her head bumped his shoulder.

"Don't tell anyone I said this, but I think it's actually kind of sweet… in a cliché 90s way. And that's not because you filled a page with nice things about how funny and smart I am."

Yes, he had done that, but he couldn't blush too badly; she thought it was sweet.

"As for the other stuff… I kind of had a feeling."

"Yeah, I guess it wasn't exactly subtle."

"You? Lacking subtlety? Never," she teased, squeezing his arm once. "You are right, though."

"Oh? About what?"

"I am going to make you work for it," she hummed.

She would hear no complaints from him.

"Best challenge ever."

He had a feeling their grins matched when the elevator doors opened and she didn't pull her arm away. "Now, come on," she prompted, bumping him with her shoulder. "I'm starving."

When she kissed him goodnight against his front door two hours later, the smile he'd been sporting all night became a permanent fixture on his face.


	12. Living In Every Word

**Anonymous asked: Prompt: "Oh I thought that we would be the greatest story that I tell / I know that it's time to tell you it's over / But I don't wanna love somebody else" by A Great Big World. Caskett, season 4, maybe? Thank you! :)**

_This is set after Headhunters and is a little bit angsty. T-rated._

**Living In Every Word**

* * *

"Castle? What are… what are you doing here?"

Showing up here hadn't been part of the plan when he started walking. Really, there hadn't been a plan at all; he just couldn't stare at a blinking cursor in a mostly empty document any longer. Instead, he'd grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, checked his pockets for his keys and phone, and walked out of the loft. His only goal was to be back before Alexis left for her shift at the morgue.

Yet somehow as he meandered, watching shadows dance along the sidewalk, his feet had brought him here. Right to her door. He hadn't knocked, but somehow she knew he was there anyway.

"Castle?" Her eyebrow shot up when he kept silent. "It's… almost two in the morning."

Yeah, he knew that. He knew it was late.

He was angry. So angry, and all he wanted was to say forget it and be done. It should be over and yet it all came back to her. It'd come back to her with Jacinda, who'd been fun and flirty, easy to laugh with, but hadn't been Beckett when it mattered. It'd come back to her with Slaughter, who'd just been a terrible idea all around. Over and over again, it came back to her.

Because it was her story. Theirs. The one they both were writing and erasing, cobbling together through years of two steps forward and three steps back. There was no shutting the book on her because she was a writer, too, in her own way.

"I'm pissed at you."

To her credit, she didn't try to feign surprise or shock. There was no defensive bristle, no accusing him of being an asshole right back. No, she slumped in what he could only think of as relief before stepping back and holding the door open wider.

"Wanna," she cleared her throat. "Wanna come in and tell me why?"

Did he? Did he want to get it out in the open, or did he just want to continue on the way they always have, everything unspoken, unvoiced? She needed answers; that was who she was. Did he want to continue to punish her by refusing them?

He stepped inside wordlessly, eyes on hers.

She broke first, looking away to shut her front door and slide the security chain into place.

"Coffee?" she offered quietly, not waiting for an answer before moving to lead him into the kitchen. He watched her push the sleeves on her oversized sweatshirt up to her elbows before reaching for the carafe.

"Ah, no. No coffee. It's, it's late."

"Yeah, it is." Her hand dropped to her side before coming up to push her hair behind her ear. She was stalling. "Water then?"

"Water's good." He'd give her that. The desert that had taken up residence in his throat would thank him, too.

Nodding in response to his quiet thanks, she lifted her bottle of water for a slow pull. He forced himself to look away from the line of her throat and sip his own water.

"So," she started finally, when there was nowhere else to look but back at each other. "Flight Attendant Jacinda? Kicking Ass and Taking Names Slaughter? Ignoring my calls and generally being – " she stopped herself quickly. "Because you're pissed at me?"

His breath stuttered at her directness. He should've known she'd take the offensive. Kate Beckett wasn't passive. Cowardly, maybe, but not passive.

"Why? What have I _done_, Castle?" she asked, almost pleadingly, continuing before he could make his brain and his mouth cooperate to respond, "Something changed, and I know it did. But it was like a switch, one minute we were… and now we're not. You're not. But I don't know _why_?"

"Because you _lied_," he hissed, fixing his gaze on her again. "You've looked me in the eye countless times and you lied to me, Beckett. Maybe you were always lying. So yeah, I'm pissed at you. When I try to get some space, I can't, and that pisses me off. When I try to give this an ending, I can't, and that pisses me off, too."

"You want to give this an ending?" she croaked, white knuckling her bottle of water.

"I want to not feel like the village idiot, Beckett. I want to not feel like someone you've reeled it and won't let go of because you think it's fun. I want to lo- I want to love someone who loves me, too."

Good god, he sounded like a character from one of the awful soap operas his mother used to work on. That was what she did to him; she turned him into an awkward, heartsick fifteen-year-old boy.

"But even with all that, even knowing you'd rather keep me spinning my wheels than just tell me the truth – that you don't love me – I don't want to love somebody else, Beckett."

Clenching his hand around his water bottle, he sighed. "And that, that pisses me off, too."

He looked away first, breaking the stalemate to shut his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. More silence. He should've expected that. She was good at silence.

"I'm gonna go. I don't want Alexis to be alone when she gets up for her shift. Thanks for the water, Beckett. I'll recycle on my way out." Spinning on his heel, he started to make his way to her door.

"I was shot."

His steps faltered, but he didn't turn around.

"I was shot," she repeated, this time sounding closer. She must've been following him. "And when I was down, this man… this amazing, caring,_frustrating_ man chose that moment to tell me he loved me. It scared the hell out of me, but it also kept me alive, made me hang on."

Swallowing he dropped his hand against the metal of her door.

"I should've been honest, but I screwed that up because _I_ was screwed up. And I told myself I'd make up for it when I could, where I could. I guess I haven't been doing a very good job of that, have I?"

She wasn't wrong and he didn't bother correcting her out of politeness. He also didn't leave.

"I'm sorry I lied," she said after a beat. Now her voice had some strength. "I don't want you spinning your wheels, Castle. Or feeling like the village idiot, or," she paused, and he knew without looking at her that she was swallowing hard. "Or trying to come up with an ending when the story's not over."

He jumped at the touch of her hand on his back, sucking in a deep breath.

"And I don't want you to love somebody else, either."

"Why, Beckett?" he asked raggedly, squeezing his eyes closed.

This time he didn't jump, didn't startle, didn't start, when she pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades. Her arm slid under his, fingers gripping the lapel of his jacket.

"Because I love you," she sniffed, resting her cheek against the buttery leather of his jacket. "I love you."

With her cheek on his back, he could feel the emotion thrumming through her. He could feel the way she held each shaky breath she took, waiting for him to respond, no doubt.

Finally, he lifted his hand from the door, covering her fingers instead.


	13. Pandora

**Pandora**

**Rated: **M

_**Prompt**: When Castle and Beckett are packing up her apartment Castle comes across her kinky box and one thing leads to another, lets just say they don't get much packing done!_

_I altered the prompt just slightly, so it's post-7x09 and not pre-7x09, but I hope that won't be too much of a problem!_

* * *

He's not where she expects him to be when she lets herself into the loft. His loft, now theirs. She'd promised at the precinct to watch a couple of his ridiculous macho movies with him, but the projector – and more importantly the man – are conspicuously absent from the living room. There's no lingering scent of freshly made popcorn, no piles of movie snacks, nothing. A quick glance into the office tells her it's empty and dark, too. So he's not set up in there.

"Castle?" she calls, careful not to shout too loudly in case Alexis is upstairs studying for her upcoming exams. Living with a college student again has taken some getting used to, but it's not too bad. The odd hours Alexis keeps can rival Kate's own sometimes, but when it's quiet in the loft, she's mindful to keep it quiet.

The quiet is a bit unnerving, though, especially given how excited Castle had been earlier. Guilt pools in her belly; she _had_ taken a while at her place – her old place – between meeting the movers to make final arrangements for putting everything they haven't carted over here in storage, and taking some time to say her final farewell. Could he think she's stood him up for their movie date?

Then again, he didn't get much sleep the night before after having "drinks" with The Indestructibles. So he very well could be sprawled out across their bed, asleep, with one sock still on his foot and his pants partially undone. It's happened before.

In a way, she hopes he is already asleep, because then she has the pleasure of crawling up his body and waking him. Welcome home, Kate, welcome home.

Rounding the corner into her bedroom requires dodging a pile of boxes she intends to take care of next time she gets a spare moment, but she makes it without breaking a toe or shouting obscenities into the ether. It's for the best, really, especially if Castle's asleep.

Her concerns are unfounded, because she finds her husband smiling brightly at her as he bustles around the bedroom. What on ear – oh, he's unpacking? Why is he unpacking now?

"Hey! You're home. You get everything taken care of at your place?"

Before she has the chance to answer, he's already grabbing another handful of things from the moving box and spreading them out on the bed while he contemplates their permanent location. A survey of the room tells her he's been at this for a while; a rather substantial pile of her husband's things is off to one side. Each time he places something of hers around the room, he adds to the pile.

"I, ah, yeah. Yeah I did. Castle?"

"Hmm? Oh, all this?" He gestures, waiting for her nod of confirmation. "Yeah, I got things set up for the movie, hence the sheet, and then I wanted to… welcome you officially? I mean obviously you've always been welcome, but this is your home, too, so I … wanted to make sure it felt that way." He looks around a little bit sheepishly, his cheeks flushing.

Oh, he's sweet. And his fumbling hesitance is probably her fault; she's been a little short with him in the last couple days.

Stepping beside him, she slides her arms around his waist. This is home, not the four walls, not the stuff. Not the bookshelves or exposed brick. Just him, just them.

"Thank you," she murmurs, resting her chin on his shoulder. "And I'm… I'm sorry I freaked out a little bit on you."

If she weren't pressed against his chest, she'd never notice the way his muscles tic at the reminder.

"I wasn't… I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Kate," he explains, cupping her shoulders with his large hands. "And, despite what you said, I knew you were mad at me. I thought you might try to talk your cousin into being roommates because of it."

Her lips land against his shoulder. "I know, babe. I know you didn't _hate_ the place, and even if you did, that's okay. I didn't even realize how much it meant to me until we were packing. Then when you said you weren't going to miss it, I just reacted and not in the best way. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Castle pulls her closer, chin brushing her hair. His hand makes a broad sweep across her shoulder blades and down her back. The motion has the desired effect; the knot of tension, of anxiety, over this one-sided non-fight that's been squeezing her spine begins to ease finally.

"So you're not leaving me in favor of sleeping on Sophia's couch?"

She laughs, squeezing him tighter. All's forgiven. With a quip like that, all's definitely forgiven. "Never. Not even when your mother walks in on us in the bath like she did last week."

"Good," he answers, wrapping her up again. "And I'm sorry about that, too."

She laughs, squeezing him. "I know. That was my fault for not locking the door."

His chest puffs under her cheek. "I am irresistible, Beckett; it's hard to stay focused around me long enough to lock doors."

"Mhmm that you are." Her hand slips down his back to squeeze his ass lightly. He's going commando under those PJ pants of his, if the warmth radiating under her hand is any indication.

He jumps in her grip, looking scandalized while she can only grin. "So I'll finish up this box and then we can watch the movie? I figured it'd be better to watch in here since Alexis is upstairs studying."

Ah, her instincts were right, then. Kate nods against his shoulder, scratching his back lightly.

"Perfect."

Lifting her chin, her mouth bumps his, the kiss soothing the last of her ragged nerves. Castle's lips lift under hers, his delight obvious.

"So what've you already unpacked?" she asks, tugging gently on his lip before stepping back. "And where did you put everything?"

Castle chuckles, pointing out the new homes he's found for everything. She nods her approval, picking a few of the items off the bed to put them away in places of her choosing.

They work in companionable silence, even opening up a second box to get as much taken care of as possible, until one item catches both her eye and his. She'd packed it before he came over to help her the other day, knowing keeping it out would've resulted in no progress being made. Now she's feeling a little bit reluctant to put it away.

She knows he's feeling the same based on the way his eyes keep straying to it as he finds places for everything else.

They _could_ stop now and have a little homecoming party.

Licking her lips, she steps closer to him, tugging on his hips gently.

"You know… we could say forget the rest of this box for now," she starts, trailing her fingers over his sides. He shivers, his breath hitching at her gentle touch.

"Oh yeah?" Castle tilts his head, trying to compose himself. "What um, what would you like to do instead? We could start the movie?"

"Mmm we could." She lifts onto her toes, grateful she'd ditched her shoes by the door. Sometimes she wants to enjoy the extra height he has on her. "Or we could postpone the movie until tomorrow night. If you're interested in some other form of entertainment tonight."

Her eyes dart to the box. She had a few things before Castle, hand-stitched leather restraints, deep burgundy scarves, massage oils, small toys; mostly purchases she'd made to satisfy her own curiosities. Until Castle, they'd rarely been used (except for one particular vibrator that was well-loved during particularly trying parts of their partnership). Since they've been together and he's encouraged her to expand her horizons – with her encouraging him to embrace his desires in return – they've explored and populated her so-called "kinky" box together.

Castle's eyes darken when she leans over, flipping the latch on the decorative case. Clearly he's agreeable to her proposal; he's so agreeable to it. She lifts the lid slowly, revealing their treasures to him for emphasis.

"Well… I think that could be arranged." His fingers twitch at his sides, obviously itching to dive in.

"Mmm, in that case… why don't I change clothes, and you decide where you'd like to start?"

"Or," he suggests gruffly, tugging her shirt up her belly and over her head. Smoothing the mussed strands of her hair away from her face, his hands trail down her shoulders, knuckles brushing the sides of her breasts. She pushes into his hands eagerly. "You don't bother changing clothes, because you won't need them."

Yanking him down, she kisses him hard. "In that case, Mr. Castle, pick your poison tonight. Will it be the magic wand? The scarves? All of the above?" She tickles her fingers down his chest, grabbing his shirt to indicate she wants it off. Thankfully, he obliges without argument and her lips wrap around his nipple as soon as he's bared to her.

"Neither," he grunts, fingers working at her pants clumsily. As soon as her zipper lowers, his fingers brush across her underwear, teasing her slowly. "The cuffs. Fuck, Beckett."

Giggling, she grazes her teeth against his nipple again before kissing across his broad chest.

"Mhmm. Soon."

His hips grind against hers and he fumbles to rid her of her slacks, helping her kick them aside. She does the same, hands sliding down his torso and dipping underneath his waistband to push his pajama pants down his hips. She can't help but touch him, teasing her fingers along his length, feeling him grow against her hand. He shudders, hips rocking forward in encouragement. Encouragement to wrap her hand around him and feel every single bit of how much he wants her.

"D-damn right," he stutters, clearing his throat. "The cuffs?" he asks this time, hands skimming her sides to thumb her nipples through the lace of her bra. As if she could ever say no to him.

Her acknowledgment is swallowed by a moan as his mouth moves down the column of her throat. He steals her breath by brandishing his teeth against her clavicle. Her limbs tingle as nimble fingers make quick work of unhooking her bra and peeling it down her arms. He yanks her panties down, too, sliding two fingers through the slickness between her legs, waiting until she trembles, until her hips rock and she gasps his name, before returning to her chest.

He traces his initials and hers against her breasts, dipping his head taste the markings.

"Me or you?" she pants, arching into his mouth, encouraging his tongue to circle and tease. His first gentle suckle goes straight to her core.

"Why not both of us?" he rasps, his breath wafting against her heated skin. He lifts hazy, love-dilated eyes to hers. "No tigers here."

"I don't know about that, Castle," she hums, dipping her head to nip at his ear as she strokes him. He growls in return, proving her point just a little. "But both of us in the cuffs it is. What else?"

His mouth covers hers again, tongue stroking her bottom lip seeking entrance she's all too happy to grant. His fingers still hers, sliding down to stroke the spot on her wrist that gets her. Releasing him reluctantly, she lets him pull her hand to his mouth.

"Bed, Kate." His voice crackles with need, need she feels all the way down to her toes. "Get on the bed and you'll find out."

"Bed," she agrees, stepping back and sliding beside the box. He follows her to the edge of the bed, stopping only to retrieve whatever he thinks they'll need for the first round at least. His favorite of their cuffs, _her_ favorite vibrator, and oh, the oil they both like. A rush of warmth spreads through her belly; he has plans for them.

She kisses his hip, palming his balls gently. "Good choices, babe."

He curses softly, rocking into her hand only to pull away. He's having a hard enough time concentrating without her teasing him.

The box lands on the floor with a dull thud before he returns to her, cupping her face between his big hands and kissing her fiercely. She can only trail her fingers over his arms, tracing the bones in his wrists as he steals her breath. It's his show; she'll go at his speed, even if that means he makes her wait, makes her die a little from need.

Later, as she's pressed against his chest feeling warm, pliant, and utterly sated, it dawns on her that he might've planned this whole thing from the beginning. She doesn't bother asking, though, because his lips curve against her hair to rumble,

"Welcome home, Beckett. Welcome home, Beckett-Castle kinky box."


	14. Embrace the Stillness

**Embrace the Stillness**

**Prompt from Anonymous: A Still!au where Castle's the one stuck on the bomb?**

* * *

Richard Castle might not be the smallest guy in the world,but he still does a double-take when he feels the floor give and click beneath him. Yeah, he's gained a few pounds in the last couple years, but not _that_ many. Not enough to break the floor.

No, that click doesn't mean he's eaten a few too many bear claws as he's chased authenticity for his novels, that click means something's _really_ wrong.

Esposito said Fosse had armed something, something not on his person. They had no choice to assume that meant the device – whatever it was – was in this apartment. His first thought had been a bomb in the kitchen, tossed in the trashcan or even the fridge (after all, isn't that where all crazy people keep their explosives?), but nobody was waiting around to find out.

Too bad he's pretty sure he found it anyway; directly under his feet.

"Castle, we have to get out of here, come on," Beckett calls over her shoulder, long ponytail whipping around as she makes sure the rest of their people are out of the apartment. He's sure she's about to follow them, confident he's on her heels when she stops at the door. "What are you doing?"

He shakes his head. "I, ah…"

"Castle?"

His hand shoots out to stop her before she can get too close. Somehow his voice remains steady – because the rest of him doesn't feel very solid at the moment – though it isn't much louder than a whisper, "Beckett, I think I found the device. And I'm pretty sure it's a bomb."

As a child, he'd been full of energy, flitting from one activity to the next, only stopping on his terms, when _he_ wanted to take a moment to recharge. As an adult, he'd learned to embrace the stillness between hectic life moments, to enjoy the chance to unwind and watch the world. Now his life depends on his ability to be still. To keep from shifting his weight too heavily or too quickly. He can't overcompensate either; if his knees lock and he passes out, he's dead. Beckett's dead.

She won't leave. He's tried to suggest she go more than a few times already, only to be met with a glare he hasn't seen since the first year they worked together. She's in this, too, for however long he stands here. And judging by the hole she's wearing in the floor across from him as she yells at anyone who'll listen, she'll pace enough for the both of them.

It's already been an hour and they're not much closer to getting him off this thing than they were before. He can manage stillness; idleness is a different story entirely.

He attempts a smile when she finally hangs up. "Any news?"

Kate's face tightens ever so slightly, a sign that there's bad news to deliver and she doesn't quite know how to phrase it.

"They're still working on a plan to disarm it." Which means they don't know how, but she won't be the one to tell him that.

"Well they wouldn't need that if we could try the Indiana Jones golden idol-bag of sand trick."

The corner of her lips twitches. That's something. "Yeah, you remember how well that worked out for him?" Her eyebrow lifts, but the tease is halfhearted.

"Fair point." He takes a deep breath, steadying himself and hopefully her as well.

She softens. "Hey, we're gonna get you off of there. And then we'll go get some food and I'll take the rest of the day. We'll even go back to bed and have an Indiana Jones marathon on my laptop." Even though she hates lounging in bed when they could be sitting in front of a window, watching the city or reading, even snacking. Beckett likes snacking.

"Sounds perfect. We'll flip over watching the last one, though."

Beckett opens her mouth again, maybe to reassure him more, but the moment's lost with the trill of her phone.

She doesn't bother turning away to take the call, but he knows by the slump of her shoulders alone as she listens that she's not getting good news.

Which is bad news for him.

* * *

Hours. He's been standing here for hours.

As fun as it's been walking down memory lane with Kate, trying to rile her up with reminders of where they started and how far they've come, he'd really like to get out of here now. His knee is starting to protest being forced to remain in the same position for so long, and the minor twinges of pain are rapidly expanding up his leg and into his hip.

He'd really like to sit, preferably with the woman he loves tucked against him, and make use of the ring he's been hiding at the bottom of his sock drawer for months. If his daughter is going to be called and pulled out of class today, he wants it to be to tell her Kate said yes, not some variation of the 'I'm sorry for your loss' spiel.

But above all, he'd really like to get rid of the fear and the resignation in Kate's eyes. Leaving the room to have the discussion had caused the warning bells to ring in his ears; this look is making them scream. This isn't good.

"What is it?"

The brave face she's worn since Mahoney called her out of the room crumbles. "They tried to disarm the bomb like we talked about…"

"And?"

She swallows, stepping until the toes of her boots touch the red line denoting the outside edge of the trigger plate. He opens his mouth to warn her, to remind her what's at stake if she gets too close, but she cuts him off,

"Castle, there's a timer. In addition to the trigger."

No, he's not screwed. Not anymore. He's beyond that. They have to do something soon or he's going to die.

He swallows hard. "How much time?"

Fuck, he doesn't want to die.

Kate blinks, lowering her chin. "Half an hour, little less than that now. They're still trying to defuse it, but everything's shielded, so it takes time."

He nods, understanding settling heavily in his gut. "Time I don't really have."

"Yeah," she breathes, swiping at her eyes quickly. Oh, Kate.

"They'll get it done," he assures immediately, thankfully sounding more confident than he feels. "I'm confident."

Kate nods, squaring her shoulders. "Me too. We still haven't made it to Bora Bora yet."

His smile feels more like a grimace, but he tries for her. "We will. Next chance we get. And we'll go back to the Hamptons soon too. We can try the Karaoke bar that's opened in town."

Beckett exhales. "Kay. I'd like that." She laughs humorlessly. "I feel like I should be comforting you."

"You are, Beckett," he promises. She is. Just seeing her face comforts him. "I'm just glad it's not you on this thing."

His partner shifts her weight, fingers reaching out only to drop before they can make contact with his. It's possible they could touch and be just fine, but it's also possible it could upset the delicate balance he's working on and be catastrophic.

"You know what bugs me?" he asks, trying to take her mind off things. "Why would a guy on a bombing spree be worried about selling his baseball card collection?"

She might not agree with his intentions, but she plays along anyway. "He wouldn't. Do you think Fosse was trying to lure the collector here?"

If he weren't so afraid of the motion setting off the bomb, he would nod vigorously. "Maybe it's something about the cards? Or the collector himself?"

She's already moving around the counter to grapple for the baseball cards. Her hand hits the counter triumphantly just a moment later. "He's probably still with Ryan and Esposito, why don't we ask him directly?"

It's a long shot, he knows, but he'll keep grasping at the straws, picking at the loose threads of this scenario that just don't make sense. Most of the other victims made sense, but why the collector? And if this wasn't meant for the collector, why would he plant a bomb like _this_ for the cops? What was Fosse's endgame here? Take as many people out before he died?

Unfortunately, his questions go unvoiced and unanswered. With ten minutes to go, Captain Mahoney calls Beckett's name again, startling them out of their back and forth.

"We're pulling all non-essential people back, Beckett. We're still working, and we will be until the last possible moment, but…"

But they're not hopeful.

Kate starts to protest, to suggest she's one of the most essential people there is, but he cuts her off first.

"Thank you, Captain. Can we just… have a couple seconds alone?"

Mahoney nods, reminding Beckett again to be outside ASAP.

He doesn't even wait until the man's out of earshot to call his partner's name.

"Beckett, we knew it might…"

Fire blazes in her eyes, flames of amber trapped behind the sheen of unshed tears. "_No_, Castle. We have not come all this way to have it end like this. Not after _everything_."

"There's still a chance. I just… I need you to be somewhere safe. Remember when I asked you to take care of Alexis?"

She nods, curling in on herself in front of him only to straighten again with the force of her inhale. "When you were cursed."

"Will you still? And my mother, too? She's a handful, but she means well."

Beckett nods, pressing her hand under her nose. "I will, of course I will. But so will you. You're walking out of this."

A bittersweet smile tugs at his lips. God, he doesn't want to die. "I love you, Kate. I love you more with each day. Some of the best years of my life were spent with Alexis, and the rest have been with you," he clears his throat, knowing half of these words would've been part of his proposal speech. Along with the hope of decades to come. "Just, I love you."

Judging by the look on her face, the devastation, Beckett knows what these words would've been, too.

"I love you, Rick. I love you, too."

He knows she does. He's known for so long. He's known since the moment she pressed forward and declared that _he_ was all she wanted. He's known with every breath she takes when she's in his arms, with every smile she sends his way, every coffee she brings him. He's known from her kisses, from her whispers, from her silly declarations over a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

"I know, I know."

She exhales, swiping under her eyes, pushing a tear into her skin. "I wish you weren't all the way over there."

"Me too."

Beckett sniffs, lurching forward only to stop herself when the captain calls for her again. That's probably her last warning.

"It's okay, Kate," he promises, pushing the words through the knot in his throat. "It's okay. You better…"

Conceding finally, she moves to join the captain in the doorway, barely taking her eyes off him. He keeps his chin up and the smile on his face until she has to turn away.

It fades – the smile, the bravado, everything – once he's alone with the stillness.

His hand trembles as he retrieves his phone from his pocket, but he manages to keep his weight balanced despite the movement. There's a part of him that doubts the wisdom in making these calls, but he doesn't want to leave them wondering, even for a moment.

He gets his mother's hysterically flustered, rushed voicemail message first, and he tries to recall some of her earliest acting lessons to make his voice as light as possible. He tells her to introduce Beckett to the play he'd heard them talking about last week, reminds her to stock Alexis' favorite snack cookie before her finals start, and warns her not to be too crazy after her show in a couple days. He won't be there to see it, but he hopes Beckett will be.

"I'm proud of you, Mother. I love you," he adds, hanging up before his voice breaks even further.

The message for Alexis is harder to get through, but somehow he makes it. Somehow he keeps his voice level and tells her everything he's wanted to say to her – how proud he is, how grateful he is to have been her father – in just forty-seven seconds.

After that, he has nothing to do but wait. And think.

The story just doesn't make sense. Why this spot? Why not closer to the door? Why all the way over here?

His eyes flit across the apartment before landing on the counter. The binder of baseball cards is still open to the page Beckett stopped on, but the computer sits untouched… almost within reach of this spot.

The computer!

"He needed the collector here for information," he announces to the empty room. "Maybe to look something up?"

Another voice harmonizes with his final words and he twists to find himself staring at his partner again.

"Beckett!"

"I was thinking about it, about why you're all the way over there," she begins, rushing through her words because they _don't_ have much time. "And then it hit me. The collector, Diego, wasn't the target, he was the pawn. This –" she gestures to his feet, "was a scare tactic."

"He wanted information," he agrees. "Check Fosse's browser history, see what_he_ was looking for before getting Diego here. That might tell us what he wanted to find out from him?"

Beckett grins, clutching the remote in her fist on her way to the computer. He doesn't argue with her, doesn't try to convince her to go. He _should_, he should be reminding her of her promise to take care of his daughter, her promise to live a good life for him and for her dad, but a renewed vigor has settled over him and he won't waste this time.

When he's off of this damn thing, he won't waste time ever again.

* * *

Billy. Five letters. B-I-L-L-Y. Words have been his specialty for years, they'll be the legacy he leaves behind, and five letters are what save his life.

His legs nearly give out as he takes his first step off the plate, but they manage to hold him long enough to go to her, to pick her up and spin her in tight circles. Beckett laughs almost frantically against his ear, the sound raw with tears and adrenaline, and her kiss tastes the same way.

The bomb squad rushes in, but they barely notice. The boys and Gates could be on their heels, but he doesn't care and he's pretty sure Beckett doesn't either. Gone are the concerns about this remaining a secret; there's little point to hiding anymore. He chants her name as he worships her mouth, thanking every higher, lower, and somewhere in between power he can think of for this woman, for the way they sometimes think as one, for those five letters they discovered together.

"Castle," she breathes, breaking through the mantra with gentle hands on his face. Her eyes shine, but this time it's joy breaking through instead of sorrow. "What you said earlier, when you were saying goodbye…" she takes a deep breath, thumbing his cheek before continuing, "Castle, marry me."


	15. More Time

_**Prompt**: From lousiemcdoogle - Post Cops and Robbers, when she asks him out for a drink, he says yes instead of inviting her back to his place._

**More Time**

* * *

"So, Old Haunt? I'll buy you a drink?"

It's selfish to ask more of his time, to ask him to delay going home and being with his family for her, but she can't stop the words from spilling out. Today was close. Too close.

She just needs a little more time, that's all. Just a little more time.

Castle's face lights up at the suggestion, joy infusing the worry lines he usually tries so hard to hide from her – from everyone – and smoothing them away.

"I'd like that," his reply is light, soft, but she can see it's more than that.

He needs a little more time, too.

"Good, then let's go." She nods quickly, settling the matter and standing before she does something stupid like cupping his face kissing his worry away.

Her hands make themselves busy, pulling her coat up her arm and around her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Castle doing the same.

"I should've asked this before," she begins once they're walking side by side down the sidewalk, shoulders barely brushing with the natural cadence of their steps, "but your mom and Alexis?"

Castle chuckles, reaching into his pocket to check for messages. "Mother is… celebrating life with none other than the bank manager from earlier. Apparently they hit it off while we were hostages and are having a late dinner."

Beckett laughs at the way his face scrunches in disgust, nudging him gently. "Hey, maybe she'll get that loan after all."

"_Beckett_," he whines, forcing her to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep a loud chortle from escaping. "Nobody wants to think about _that_, least of all me."

"Poor baby."

"Yes, poor baby. Poor me."

Rolling her eyes, she tugs on his arm. "And Alexis?"

"Some movie with her friends. It's opening night and they've had tickets for weeks. I didn't want her to cancel on them."

Nodding thoughtfully, she squeezes his arm. "No, that's good. Today was rough. It's good to do that. Be normal."

Castle smiles. "Yeah, that's why I made her go."

"Of course we know there's no hope for you," she adds, bumping him playfully.

Her partner gasps, mock-hurt. "I'm wounded, Detective. Wounded." He doesn't grab his chest for emphasis, though, and they both know why.

Still, she plunders ahead, "Need some ice? Maybe a band aid?"

"Depends, are you going to kiss and make it better?"

"I can't kiss away your weirdness, Castle," she retorts, nudging him down the stairs to the subway. They'll only be riding for a couple stops, but if she's drinking, she's not taking her cruiser and getting a cab looked next to impossible in the traffic.

He looks over his shoulder as he passes through the turnstile, his eyes a deeper blue than she's seen in a long time. "Why not give it a try?"

Heat floods her cheeks. It's silly, really. They've teased and flirted like this before; there's no reason to flush.

Except there is.

It's… different now. It's even different tonight compared to how it was just a day ago.

There's an energy tonight, a crackling whenever she meets his gaze. They're both hyper aware of each other, hyper aware of what their words are doing to one another.

"Right here on the platform during the dinner rush? Romantic, Castle," she drawls, finally finding her voice, lame though her come back is.

He grins, acting as a barrier between her and the crush of bodies trying to be first getting on the subway. Normally there would be a protest on her lips, but after the day they've had, her nerves need his warmth at her back.

"We can take our drinks down to the office if you want," he offers once they've crowded their way in and squished into a corner of the car.

Part of her wants to agree, to retreat into solitude and silence with him when they arrive at the Old Haunt, but another part of her knows that's probably not a good idea in the slightest. Not with how her limbs tingle at the touch of his hand on her hip. He thinks he's steadying her, but he might as well be making her weaker by the second.

"Sure," she agrees, remembering the weakness she'd felt earlier in the day, when she'd been certain she'd _lost_ him. "You're less likely to show off behind the bar if we do that."

His chuckle ruffles her hair, as gravity and the day have taken their toll on her bun and more than a few strands are starting to escape. She'll take it down once they're topside again, fix it somehow.

"Maybe so, but it's pretty impressive when I do, isn't it?"

He's playing it up. The flirting, the joking, all of it. This is how he's coping; it has to be.

Playing her role, she just snorts in return. "So impressive. How ever do you manage with all your talent?"

"Oh it's tough, but somehow I pull through." His fingers move against her hip, feeling more like a caress than the involuntary muscle twitch she knows it is.

Thankfully, the lurch of the car covers the hitch in her breath. His hand falls away as he backs up to make room for her to head to the doors.

It's easier in some ways once they're on the street. He's not as close, his breath doesn't waft across her neck, his hands aren't right _there _ready to touch her.

On the other hand, it only makes her want him closer.

When they get to The Old Haunt, he holds the door for her, allowing her to step into his bar first.

She's pleased to see it's busy, even though that means he has to disappear for a moment to walk around and greet people. As much as she'd teased him when he bought the bar, she didn't want his investment in the place where he wrote his first novel to fail. There are a few familiar faces from the precinct (taking advantage of Castle's "12th Discount", no doubt) but they simply nod to her and let her be. Another good reason to disappear to Castle's office.

Brian's working tonight, which makes it easier for her to request their usual and assert it's on her – not the house like Castle always comes along and insists.

"Thanks, Brian," she murmurs, leaning her shoulder against the bar.

"Anytime, Detective. It's good to see you in here again, been a while."

It _has_ been a while, she realizes, her stomach sinking. Since… before the summer, maybe even before Royce's death. She wonders how often Castle came slinking into the bar after her shooting, shoulders heavy with the failures and setbacks of his day.

She wonders how often he was here after Gates kicked him out.

"Sorry about that," Castle murmurs, crowding over her shoulder the way he always does. It doesn't annoy her nearly as much as it used to; instead it thrills more often than not.

"Mmm, the work of a bar owner is never done. Brian's taking care of our drinks, but I told him not to rush."

"I could get them…"

"And that defeats the purpose of me _buying_ you a drink." She enunciates the 'k' carefully, offering him a sly grin over her shoulder.

Shit, he's close. Closer than either of them have let him get in ages.

Castle grins. "You can still buy, Beckett. Just watch."

And then he's skirting behind the bar and throwing a cloth over his shoulder – for authenticity, he'd say – as he leans in.

"What'll it be tonight, doll?"

She rolls her eyes, but she knows it's not enough to keep her cheeks from flushing. As terrifying as it is, she _wants_ the affection, the stupid term of endearment, to be real. Clearing her throat, getting control of herself, she taps the lacquered wood of the bar.

"The usual, Castle. Come on, before you end up tending bar all night."

Across from her, Castle winks. "Coming right up."

She takes both of their drinks and the cocktail napkins when he offers them, forcing her money into his hand with a look he doesn't dare fight. She expects him to smile at the next customer and take their order quickly, but instead Castle snags Brian, offering up his services before joining her on her side of the bar.

"Told you it'd be quick."

"Good job."

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile and her fingers itch to smooth across his temples and down his cheeks. Her mouth craves the chance to press against his, to taste his happiness, to taste him.

She doesn't, though. For one, he's gesturing for her to take the stairs to his office already, and for two, she's still holding the rapidly cooling tumblers of their nightcap.

He's redecorated a little bit since she was here last. The character, the speakeasy charm, is still the same, but it really does feel like an office, like a place he might come to relax or to write when his home gets a little bit too loud.

She moves to take a seat at his desk, but he points to another spot. He's set up a sitting area beside the bookshelves.

"Planning to hide down here for a while, Castle?" she teases, glancing over her shoulder and catching his eyes lift from her swaying hips.

Warmth spreads through her belly.

"Never know. It's the perfect place to hide in the event of zombies."

"There's no such thing as zombies."

"Mmm, we'll see," he murmurs, voice like rich honey, as he lowers himself onto the small couch beside her. His added weight has her dipping toward him, but she doesn't rock back, doesn't put distance between them. Instead, she hands his glass over and settles in.

There's been enough distance lately.

"But don't worry, Beckett, you're part of my Zombie Plan, too."

"I'm touched." She is, but she hides that behind a sip of their favorite whiskey. He does the same, exhaling after he swallows.

She lets her eyes drift closed for a moment, just a brief moment, as a recap of the day rolls through her mind. Jesus, it'd been close.

"I do need you, you know," she blurts, as the memory of his joking request for her to ask for his assistance springs to mind.

Castle's hand lowers, the glass coming to rest on his knee. She wonders if it'll leave a ring of condensation, fleeting proof that they're having this conversation.

"You do?" he asks, dipping his chin at the crack in his voice.

Her hand bridges the gap between them, knuckles sliding against the line of his jaw, before her thumb connects with his bottom lip.

"Yeah, I do. Even if you don't do paperwork."

His lips lift under her thumb and she watches the way a shy, little boy smile takes over his face. She feels her own smile spread, feels the butterflies she always tries so hard to tamp down start to flutter out of control.

He must see it, too. He must see the way her heart's hammering, but not with panic, not with the terror she's still working hard to overcome.

"I can do paperwork," he murmurs, taking her drink from her hand and settling it beside his own on a side table.

Her hand slides across his jaw again, moving to caress the hair at the back of his neck.

"You can, huh?"

"Uh huh, I'm actually the Prince of Paperwork. Considering how much… I write."

"Prince, huh? Not King?"

Her thumb slides slowly, hesitantly. The motion brings him closer, his thigh flush against hers, their foreheads just barely touching.

"Liked the almost-alliteration better," he explains, trying to keep his voice light, playful, Castle-esque. "But don't worry, the credentials are sound. I can do paperwork, prince or king."

"Mmm." Her eyes slip shut, giving her the chance to breathe him in, to steady herself for what she might say next. "That'd be good, Prince of Paperwork. Keep you out of trouble."

"Yeah?" he breathes, his voice so soft, yet hopeful, that her eyes can't help but slip open again.

"Yeah," she promises, steeling her courage and pressing her mouth to his.

He inhales sharply, but she presses closer, painting his mouth with her joy, her relief, her love. Finally he presses back, hand slipping into her hair, lips pliant and hungry under hers.

She needs more time, yes. She'll _make_ time. She'll make time with him, _for_ him.

For _herself_.


	16. Morning Marks

**Morning Marks**

**Rated**: M

**Prompt**: From mobazan27 - _Their friends and family meet them in the Hamptons for the weekend. Everyone is wearing bathing suits and to Caskett's late and horrifying realization, they are both sporting very obvious and embarrassing tell-tale signs of their vigorous and inventive activities of the previous night_

**Notes: **Hopefully this is something like what you were hoping for! Thank you, as always, to everyone for reading my fanfics and supporting my endeavors with exploring the lives of these characters.

* * *

If there are better ways to spend a morning than with her husband's warmth at her back, Kate Beckett has yet to find one. After their night, she's long past sated – she'll probably be sated for the next week as she relives the feel of his fingers gripping her body and his mouth worshiping her skin. She's anticipating flashbacks to the way he'd maneuvered her leg high over his shoulder and slid deep inside her, rocking with the rhythm of their heartbeats, hitting her _just_ right with each thrust.

No, she won't be forgetting their night any time soon. Especially not with the human reminder draped across her back, his hips oh-so flush with her ass and his bear paw hands gripping hers.

"You awake?" Castle rumbles, mouth curled against the base of her neck. Warmth ripples through her limbs; god, he feels good.

"Uh huh, you?"

It's an inane question, and his chuckle reverberates through her chest, igniting her laughter, too. Her fingers flex under his, hips rocking back. She needs him again. Even after a marathon night, she needs him again. Thank you, second trimester.

Castle nips at her throat in retaliation, soothing the mark with a swipe of his tongue.

"Mmm, yes. Yes you are awake," she singsongs, twisting her head to catch his eyes, dark with renewed arousal. "You are _very_ awake."

Castle growls into her neck, rocking into her. Want courses through her, hot tendrils that spread through her belly and roll up her spine.

"And you are a tease, Beckett."

Easing him onto his back isn't as graceful as she means for it to be, but he doesn't seem to mind her fumbling. He definitely doesn't mind when she swings her leg over his hips, ghosting her center over his length.

Her mouth lands against his, tongue sweeping between his lips. "Who said anything about teasing, Castle?" she murmurs, feeling her pulse throb and need grow with each careful slide against him. "I make good on my promises."

Castle's hands slip up her hips, clumsy yet gentle as they move to cup her breasts. She's been sensitive these last few weeks, but now she needs the roughness of his hands, needs the pinch of his fingers, needs the zing that travels straight to her core.

Her own fingers trail down his chest, mimicking his movements for a moment before smoothing over his belly. Her nails scrape beneath his navel, the answering buck of his hips exhilarating.

"Fuck, Beckett," he pants, abandoning one of her breasts in favor of slipping a hand over her belly, dipping between her thighs to stroke her. She's so wet already, so eager for his touch.

Her shudder throws off their rhythm, but she's able to curl her fingers around him, slipping her hand along his length.

His thumb makes a slow circle against her clit, stealing her breath and her concentration. It's all the hesitation he needs to flip her onto her back and declare an end to their teasing. He settles into the cradle of her hips, trailing his mouth over her neck, her shoulders, down to her breasts.

"Fuck," she echoes, arching into him at the first easy suckle. "So impatient."

"Just making the most of our time," he growls, the easy circle of his tongue belying his urgency.

Reaching between them, eager for more than the slide of him against her, she lines him up.

"Such good ideas, Castle," she gasps, gripping his arm, his shoulder as he fills her slowly. Sparks shoot through her, white-hot. Already she craves more.

Thankfully, he obliges, retreating once only to sink into her deeper, harder, faster. His mouth crashes over hers again, tongue pushing sloppily between her lips to devastate hers.

Her feet slip on the sheets, searching for traction, searching for leverage, chasing the high that's building with each thrust of his hips. A steady chant of his name spills from her lips and she grips his back, his ass.

She's the first to crash, to give into the rush and the lightning coursing through her. Her nails flash against his back, grounding her as she shudders through her release.

Castle follows her over the edge moments later, panting her name again and again in time with his near frantic thrusts.

He's touching her gently, barely there caresses at the apex of her legs, when she comes back to herself. He rides out the aftershocks with her, face pressed against her neck, fighting to bring his own respiration back to normal. His fingers still at her quiet mewl, palm sliding to her hip instead.

"Hey," he breathes, lifting his head to offer her a dopey, blissful smile. His hair flops across his forehead, damp with sweat, and she pets it back gently.

"Hey," she echoes, smearing her lips over his. "Getting here early was the best idea you've ever had, you know."

Castle grins cockily, rolling onto his back, bringing her with him to sprawl across his chest. His heart still thunders under her ear, soothing her more than he'll ever know.

"A good idea except I'm not sure I can walk."

Laughing softly, her fingers slip over his pec, thumb brushing his nipple. It's possible they might've overdone it with the acrobatics last night, because she knows the feeling. She'd been shaky the last time she got up to use the bathroom, who knows if she'll be able to even do more than wobble her way there now. It's not painful, the ache of overstretched muscles, but it's there.

"What time did everyone say they would be here?"

"Eleven maybe," he rumbles, yawning into her hair.

That's not that bad. "What time is it now?"

She's not wearing her watch and lifting her head from the warmth of his chest requires energy she's not willing to expend. Instead, she pokes him until he squirms under her, craning his neck to see the clock across the room.

They have a rule for the Hamptons house: no phones or clocks on the nightstands unless absolutely necessary. It makes it so much more peaceful when they're here, but it's also a pain in the ass when they actually need to know the time.

"Ahh," he hedges, palm flattening against the small of her back. "Eleven seventeen?"

Shit. "Are they here already?" Kate listens for sounds of movement in the other part of the house.

"I don't… well, of course I don't know. I've been right here the whole time."

"Castle, you weren't exactly quiet just now, and we didn't clean up last night."

Scrambling out of bed with the sheet over her chest, she practically trips over her husband's discarded robe. Castle grins, unashamed to be sprawled naked and sideways across the mattress. Of course, he's unconcerned.

"Get up," she orders, tossing the robe over his lap. "I'll start the shower while you grab everything from downstairs." She thinks quickly. "And outside."

Her husband just licks his lips, reaching for her instead.

"Rick," she warns, sidestepping his questing fingers. "Maybe you don't mind everyone seeing what goes on in our private time, but I kind of do. Go."

"I could," he drawls, snatching her hand to kiss her palm. "Or I could tell you to look at the chair to your left, at which point you'll see that I took care of it while you were napping last night. Because I am on top of things."

Squeezing his hand, she sighs. "Ass. You could've mentioned that."

"Yep." He grins, tugging her over him for a slow kiss. "And nobody's here yet. So we," he pauses, kissing her fiercely. "Still." Another kiss. "Have." Mhmm, this time he slides his tongue against her lips, requesting entry. "Time."

"Mhmm." She yanks away, ignoring his whine. "Time to shower and time to get the food prepped. Move, Castle."

Castle grumbles good-naturedly, letting her tug him off the bed. "Killjoy."

"Not what the evidence says, babe," she singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows. "Strip the bed quickly; I'll get our water started. Then baby wants waffles."

"Baby's so particular." He grins, brushing his knuckles over her abdomen. She cants into him, curling her fingers around his biceps. Love wells in her chest, crowding into her throat. Love for the tiny thing inside her, the perfect blend of both of them, and love for him. For her husband, her rock, even when her hormones are completely out of control and she has no damn clue what's going on.

"I love you."

Castle's forehead lands against hers. His arms lock her against his chest as only he's allowed to do, sheltering, protecting.

"I love you, too, Kate."

* * *

By the time they emerge from the shower, there are definitely people in the house. She hears Martha welcoming everyone back, reminding them once more to make themselves at home. Most of their friends haven't been back to the Hamptons since their ill-fated wedding day, a fact that's weighed heavily on them both. It's part of what makes this visit even more important. She and Castle may have already exorcised their demons here, but the others haven't. And they should, because there are many more barbecues and pool parties ahead for this family.

Kate hears Ryan and Esposito betting whether they're still asleep or not, only to be admonished by Jenny and Lanie a moment later. Even Sarah Grace's joyful giggles can be heard, along with pleas for Alexis to play.

"Hello, Katie," her father calls teasingly. "We're here."

Damn, they are here. _Everyone_ is here.

Castle kisses her shoulder on his way to his dresser. "I'm gonna just put my swimsuit on, since – after your waffles – I assume we'll be swimming anyway."

"Mmm, good plan." Beckett reaches into her bag for the new two-piece she bought. It's demure enough for their family's eyes, but sexy enough to be a treat for her husband. All she has to do is wait for him to change and get out of here so she can surprise him.

Okay, maybe she just wants him to go first because she likes the view.

Holding her suit behind her back, she watches Castle drop his towel into a heap. Rolling her eyes, she lets it go in favor of following the lines of his legs up to his ass, his beautiful ass.

Of course, said beautiful ass has a number of tiny, crescent-shaped marks from where her hands had clenched to drive him deeper inside her. Oops. Hopefully they're not too painful.

Her eyes don't leave his butt until its covered by his swim trunks, moving upwards to survey the broad display of his back. She stops there, teeth worrying the edge of her lip. Uh oh, more nail marks, scratches this time.

Crap, she's marked him. More than she thought she had.

"Hey, um… babe?"

Castle glances over his shoulder, grinning slyly. "Enjoying the view, Kate? I don't blame you, but why aren't you getting dressed, too?"

"I will, but um… you might wanna leave your shirt on for a little while." She steps closer, reaching out a hand. Her finger slides down one of the scratches, drawing a shiver from him.

Her lips twist in a sheepish smile, only to fall in horror at the purple mark on his neck when he turns to face her. _That_ cannot be hidden by a t-shirt. Oh god, she gave him a hickey. She's a grown woman, a married woman at that, and she gave him a hickey. Hickeys are just so high school.

"Oh," she breathes. "That's…" Her fingers brush his neck. "When did I do that?"

"About the same time I did this," he replies, trailing his fingertips over her collarbone. What? He didn't…

He _did_.

"Castle! Are there more?"

Her towel drops to allow her to survey her skin and finally take long-overdue look in the mirror. What the hell? Two love bites on her neck, one on her breast – at least that one can be hidden – one on the, shit, the inside of her thigh, right above distinct fingertip-sized smudges from him holding her open to feast on her. Those she has on her hips, too. Damn it, the majority of these are going to be next to impossible to hide if she wants to get into the water or even wear a swimsuit.

"Damn it."

"It's not _that_ bad. You look –"

"Like you mauled me?" Her fingers slip over the spot at the base of her throat, remembering the ecstatic agony of his mouth on her, two of his fingers moving inside her in time with his suckles.

"Hey, you mauled me, too."

"I got carried away, Castle. We both got carried away, but I can't go downstairs like this."

Her husband leers. "Well no, but you are _so _sexy when you're naked and frustrated. Did you know you get flushed from your nipples to your nec –"

"Castle, focus. My _father_ is here. Your daughter is here."

"Uh huh," he licks his lips, gaze on her chest. Rolling her eyes, she plucks her towel of the floor, covering herself again.

"Go to your mother and find out if she has any waterproof, sweat-proof makeup."

"Ahh, but Mother is much paler than either of us. You. Paler than you," he corrects, knowing at this point she's not all that concerned with him covering up.

Damn it, he's right. It won't do any good to draw attention to the marks by making them lighter.

Castle's arms wind around her. "Maybe if we just act normal – as normal as we can – nobody will notice anything? Or we could use your makeup and hope for the best?"

"…Fine," she agrees, knocking her head against his affectionately. "Bathroom, now."

Twenty minutes later, they finally leave their bedroom to greet their family and friends. Kate crosses her fingers that her makeup job is passable at least, that the beauty of the house and the grounds will distract everyone from the obvious signs of one hell of a night with her husband.

One look at the two of them, though, and everyone notices.

Whoops.

* * *

_A/N: I don't make many forays into full-blown smut anymore, so this was a fun challenge for me. Thanks!_


	17. Reference Material

**itskatianicole prompted: c/b meet in college &amp; castle is appalled by beckett's lack of movie knowledge so he makes her watch his list of greatest movies. Friends first, ends with more :)**

**Reference Material  
**_**A Caskett AU**_

* * *

"You're kidding me."

Her glare doesn't seem to stop the incredulity from washing over her companion's face, nor does it make him think twice about actually speaking his mind. Why had she invited him to study with her?

"Kidding you about what?" She really needs to go back to her book, but every time she tries, Rick asks her another stupid trivia question.

How much movie trivia does this boy know? No wonder he sucks at calculus; there's no room for anything else in his brain.

"You really don't know that one either?"

Dropping her pencil, Kate Beckett sighs. "I don't watch a lot of comedy, okay?"

Rick side eyes her. "Apparently you don't watch a lot of anything. That's shameful, Beckett."

She manages not to pull a muscle from rolling her eyes, though it's touch and go for a second. "What's shameful is that I'm talking to you," she drawls. "Can you just study?"

"That's boring. I'd rather talk to you."

He's sweet, this boy, but right now he's going to drive her insane.

"Talk to me about polar coordinates, Rick. Not National Lampoon's Polar Vacation."

He laughs, his deep blue eyes crinkling adorably. "Oh, you'll learn, Kate. You'll learn."

Not if she wrings his neck first.

She must say it aloud, because he laughs again, scooting closer and grabbing her notebook. Her heart thuds heavily in her chest, just from the quick brush of their shoulders, but she swallows hard and tamps it down.

"Stop, Rick. I'm studying."

"And I am, too. I'm just borrowing your notes."

"What happened to yours?" she asks, shoving lightly at his chest with her shoulder. He has no concept of personal space and he smells so damn nice; it's completely distracting.

"Don't have any. I write during class."

Of course he does. He's always writing something.

"Fine," she sighs. "I'll share. But you have to shut up. No more movie quotes, no more mocking me because I do other things with my time. No talking about anything but calc. Capisce?"

His lips pop close to her ear. "Kay."

God help her.

He buys her a coffee a few hours later. Their first practice test results are abysmal and she's frustrated, but the moment he presses the warm container into her hand, she finds herself perking up. It's delicious and rich, exactly the way she likes her coffee.

"How'd you know?" she asks around the rim of the travel mug.

Rick grins. "I pay attention. I'm a lot like Matt Damon in –"

Her hand covers his mouth. "If you say 'The Bourne Identity,' I will dump this on your head."

He grins again this time, tickling the edges of her palm with his lips. Her hand retreats quickly, letting her ignore the sparks that shoot up her arm.

"You've seen _The Bourne Identity_?"

Kate groans. "No, but I can understand a reference every once in a while. After all, the commercials are on constantly. But ah –" She holds up her hand. "That was not an invitation to start quoting at me again."

"Party pooper."

"Yes, that's exactly what I live for, Rick. Spoiling your fun. Not passing this stupid class, not getting out of school eventually, just sucking the joy out of your life."

He snickers into his own coffee. "Knew it."

Yeah, he looks so downtrodden. Not.

They sip in silence for a few moments before he scoots closer once more, fingers curling around his pencil to get started again. They'd bickered their way through the solutions to the first practice test, maybe the second one would be more productive.

Halfway through the second test, he speaks again.

"You know what we should do?"

"Stop talking and finish this test so we can go home before 3 am?"

He shakes his head. "Well, yes, but we should have a movie night. Since you're filmography challenged."

Gawking, Kate looks between her notes and her study partner. "A what?"

"A movie night. You, me, popcorn, a VCR, and a bunch of VHS tapes? _Maybe_ a DVD player if we need it. C'mon, it'll be fun, and you'll finally understand what the hell I'm talking about most of the time."

Licking her lips, she turns to him again. "I very much doubt that." There, flippant. She can do flippant.

But oh, he shouldn't be so damn good at making puppy eyes. "Doubt what? That you'll have fun?"

"No, that I'll ever understand what the hell you're talking about." She smirks, bumping him gently with her elbow. Hurting his feelings isn't her plan, even if he is ridiculous and all over the place.

"Never know if you don't try."

"Fine, Rick."

He pumps his fist eagerly. "It'll be great Kate."

"Uh huh, now can we study?"

Rick sighs, a dramatic and put-upon thing that only serves to remind her of the day he told her his mother is an actress. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, that's for sure. "Yes, Beckett, we can study."

There's no reason to like when he calls her _Beckett_, but she does. She's messed up.

He knows it, too, that's why he keeps it up. It's just too bad _Rodgers_ doesn't have the same ring to it.

–

In spite of their study challenges, they both manage to make it through the exam with only minor injuries to their pride. At least she doesn't feel like she failed, so she'll go ahead and call it a win. As long as she made the minimum grade she needs to pass, she's good.

Now she just has to survive movie night with him.

More importantly, she has to survive movie night without making a move on him.

For as much grief as she gives her study partner, she's kind of absurdly infatuated with him. He's smart – calculus possibly notwithstanding, they'll wait and see how he did to make a final judgment there – he's funny, he's _hot_, and he likes her back. At least she thinks he does; he hasn't dated anyone since she's known him, and women eye him everywhere they go. He's had plenty of opportunities, but he still sticks with her.

She just can't jump him at movie night. Not only is it clichéd, but she also can't let him think he won her over with his ridiculous movie trivia, otherwise she'll never, ever, hear the end of it. Besides, he didn't win her over with that.

No, he won her over because he meets her out in front of their class buildings with travel cups of coffee exactly the way she likes it. He won her over because he offers his hoodies when the AC in the math building is on full-blast and she's in danger of slipping into unconsciousness from the cold. And okay, fine, maybe she _does_ know more of his references and movie impressions than she lets on (because, come on, who _hasn't_ at least heard of _Psycho_?) but he lights up like a little kid when he thinks he's telling her something for the first time. He's been her friend for months, her verbal sparring partner as well as her study buddy – his words – and he _hasn't _been attempting to get into her pants.

_That's_ how he won her over without even trying.

Damn, she has it bad.

Maybe the bottle of wine is a bad idea, but it's movie night and she has self-control, so why not. Besides, it's better than drinking whatever crappy, cheap beer Rick's probably stocking in his apartment. So wine it is, hidden for the walk across campus. It's not the most comfortable transportation method, but she ignores the way the messenger bag strap tugs at her neck under the added weight of the bottle and her book.

Her study partner's book, to be precise. It's four years old, and the name on the front cover is not the name she knows him by, but there's no mistaking Rick Rodgers on the back. The bright eyes, the cocky, boyish grin. It's him. _Richard Castle_.

She'd found the book at the library that afternoon, gaping for about ten minutes before snatching it up and speeding out of there.

Ricky has some 'splainin' to do.

He grins when he opens the door to her twenty-eight minutes later. "You made it!"

"Of course I made it; I wasn't going to stand you up, as enticing as the idea of avoiding your movies might be. I even brought refreshments." She wiggles her eyebrows, nudging past him with a smirk. The lobby of his apartment is nice, way nicer than her dorm.

"You didn't need to do that. I have snacks."

"Not snacks," she singsongs, following him to the stairwell. Once they're climbing, she opens her bag to show him the label.

If he catches a glimpse of his book, he doesn't say anything. "Oh, good choice, Kate. Nice vintage, and perfect for our first feature this fine evening."

He's grandstanding a little, a lot. She's noticed he does this when he gets nervous. She almost hopes he's nervous. She's a little nervous, too.

"Mmm, and what's our first feature?"

He smiles, enigmatic even through his excitement. He opens his apartment door for her, gesturing inside. "You'll see."

What she sees is the stack of VHS tapes he's unearthed. Does he realize he's chosen an absurd number of movies to get through in just an evening?

"Aww, Ricky, if I'd known this was a sleepover, I would've brought a pillow and my jammies," she teases, looking over her shoulder at him.

He doesn't miss a beat. "That's okay, you can wear mine. I'll still let you braid my hair, too, even though you forgot the elastics."

Laughing, she waits until he closes the door behind them to hold out the wine bottle. "Pour me a glass?"

He does, hitting a button on the microwave before he fills his own glass.

His distraction gives her the opportunity to look around his place. Just like the lobby, it's nice. Book sales must be good.

"So uh," she interrupts his quiet humming. "How'd you manage to land this place?"

Rick smiles easily. "Really great timing. There was an opening just as I was readmitted to school. I snatched it up at a great rate and the rest is history."

Taking her glass from him, she settles on the couch. "It's really nice. But um, how old _are_ you, exactly?"

He gasps, lowering beside her. "Beckett, how uncouth. You never ask a girl her age."

Snorting into her wine, she leans against the arm of the couch. "Cute. I'm going to be twenty-three in November. Your turn."

"Twenty-five. I wanted to come back and finish my degree. Just to have it, you know?"

She smiles. "Yeah, I know what you mean." She does. She'd tried to quit school for good when her mother was hurt, but Johanna wouldn't let her. Instead, she'd taken a year off just to be with her family before transferring back to New York. "What made you decide not to finish the first time?"

Okay, so she's fishing a little bit. She can't help it. The guy wrote a _book_. Maybe even more than one, she just hasn't checked yet. So what is he doing back here instead of basking in the fortune and fame?

He looks almost bashful. "I uh, I had another job for a while and it made finishing school difficult."

"You mean this one?" Kate pulls the book out of her bag, waggling it carefully. His eyes widen.

"You know? How'd – have you read it?"

Her lips turn up. "Half of it. Got it this afternoon. You really wrote this?"

"Well," he hedges, almost wincing. "Yeah I did. And it went to the top of the best-seller list within six months of release, so it can't be too horrible, right?"

Oh god, he's worried about what she thinks, it's written all over his face. It's cute how shy he is about this.

"Eh, it's not bad," she teases, putting it aside in favor of lifting a socked foot and nudging him. "Sign it for me later, Mr. Best Seller; start the movie masterpiece you've been yammering about now."

That pulls him out of his funk and before she knows it, he's pressing play and offering her a bowl of candies and a bowl of popcorn. Variety, she likes it.

They drift toward each other throughout the evening. It starts out of necessity when she can't see through the glare from the setting sun and has to take the middle cushion instead of the end. As the night rolls on, and her belly ends up full of wine and the dinner he makes (he's actually a halfway decent cook, too, he can't be real) she leans into him for the sheer comfort and enjoyment of it. By the end of the third movie, she's practically nestled into him and he's wrapped his arm around her loosely.

"So what made you want to write?" she blurts as they sit in gentle silence, watching the credits roll. It's almost late enough that she should think about leaving, but she knows she'll be the one to put the next movie into the VCR.

Rick's fingers slip idly over her sleeve. "I guess I just… had a story to tell. A couple stories, really, and I got lucky when people wanted to read them."

Nodding thoughtfully, she squirms a bit, facing him earnestly. He doesn't talk about himself very often, at least not beyond how many movies he's seen.

"I spent most of the money I made on the first book… really quickly. The second one I was better about, more responsible, but the more I wrote, the more I worried what might happen if I screwed up and nothing after those two did well. So I decided to go back to school so I'd have something to fall back on."

Kate smiles, nodding again. "And then we met a little while later."

"And then we met and I was blown away by your profound lack of movie knowledge." He grins, cupping the curve of her shoulder. She likes his touch.

Heaving a sigh, she pulls away. He looks hurt for an instant, but the hearty stretch she completes has his eyes darkening instead. Warmth floods her cheeks. Okay, she's not imagining the desire; he's into her, too.

Clearing her throat brings his attention back to her eyes from… wherever it may have been. She quirks a grin at him, granting him permission to continue looking. "Okay, movie guru, what's next?"

She nods after receiving her orders, watching him duck into the kitchen. He makes them coffee while she uses the bathroom and stretches her legs a bit. The first sip tells her everything she needs to know: it's the same coffee he brings her nearly every day. He _makes_ her coffee nearly every day. And god, it's good.

"Do you two want to be alone?" Her study partner lifts an eyebrow, amused.

She swats at him, ignoring her own embarrassment. She really had made that noise over a cup of coffee, hadn't she? "Shut up, it's good. I can't believe you make this yourself. Wait, you're not hiding a barista under your sink, are you?"

He laughs. "No, no barista hostages." He eyes her fondly, sipping from his own mug. "I'm glad you like it, Kate."

They settle together again, this time her head lands on his shoulder without any prompting.

She makes it halfway through the movie before her courage gets the better of her.

"After this one's over," she murmurs, lifting her eyes to his. "I'd like to take you up on your offer."

The slope of his jaw beckons to her, begging her to touch her lips to his stubble. She does, feeling him inhale, feeling his fingers fumble on her arm in surprise.

"My offer?"

"Mhmm, the PJs?" She presses another kiss to his chin, letting him know it wasn't a fluke or a slip. His late five o'clock shadow scrapes her lips delightfully. "If the offer is still open, of course."

"I think," he croaks, fingers skimming down her sleeve to flutter around her wrist. "I think I can accommodate that."

"Good." Kate tugs her lip between her teeth as their eyes meet. Sitting up, her hand lands on his shoulder, and she uses him for balance to swing a leg across his body and settle in his lap. Her nose brushes his, fingers slipping into his hair to massage his surprise away as her lips work over his.

Kissing him goes against the rules she made for herself on her way over, but fuck it. She likes him. She wants him. Movie trivia, sweet gestures, and all.

He kisses back, holding her sides in his big hands. His touch is reverent, deliberate, and she craves more of it.

"In that case," she breathes, tugging on his lip gently. Her tongue flits over every curve and dent in his flesh. "I'll even braid your hair, _Castle_."

Rick grins against her mouth, chuffing a laugh before pulling her in and making her breathless.

Her rules were made to be broken, really.


	18. A Bonding Experience

**A Bonding Experience**

**Caskett**

**Future!Fic**

**Prompt: **Aunt Teresa is visting New York and has to stay with the Castles for a few days. Hilarity ensues as Rick tries his best to win her over and Martha and interact, with Kate stuck in the middle.

* * *

She's buttering him up.

He still hasn't figured out exactly what it is she's after, but he knows his wife. She's up to something. Definitely up to something.

It isn't like last year, when they were forced to work apart on the same case and she tried to ply him with good wine and the hypnotic, seductive slide of her hand through his hair to find out what he knew. No, this time she's all smiles and sweet kisses. Family dinners and comforting neck rubs. Letting him choose the movie _and_ adding his favorite caramel drizzle to a bowl of popcorn she then shares with him.

Not to say his wife isn't normally attentive and loving – she is, absolutely she is – but she abhors caramel popcorn. Anything else and he wouldn't say a word, but the popcorn is the thing that truly clues him in.

"What's up?" he asks finally, after she's the one to stand and stretch, returning with more snacks and two glasses of wine at the completion of the first movie. The _first _movie, he adds in his head, when she has work in the morning.

"Hmm?" Her eyebrows lift over the rim of her glass. She curls back into his side, lifting her knees to nudge his thigh. "What do you mean 'what's up?'"

"The popcorn, Beckett. Unless there's something you want to tell me that's making you love foods you normally hate," he pauses, slipping a hand under her shirt to caress her side. "What's up?"

She laughs softly, dusting his jaw with soft lips. "Nothing to tell on that front this month, babe."

He ignores the little nudge of disappointment at that; they aren't exactly trying for a baby, but with Beckett off her birth control, they're not exactly _not_ trying either. "So there's something to tell on another front, then."

Beckett sighs, twisting just enough to slide her wine glass onto the end table.

"Well… you know my aunt…"

"Theresa?"

"Mhmm," she confirms, tugging her lip between her teeth.

"The one who's still wary of me because the paper made it sound like I was cheating on you, disappeared on you to continue that affair, and then made it sound like I'd conned you into marrying me anyway when I came back?"

"Mhmm, that's the one. But you know she doesn't believe that by now, Castle."

"Well, I'd hope not!" He sits up a little, looking around the room. "It's been over a year."

"It has," she soothes, brushing her hand down his arm. "It has. She just… hasn't had a chance to get to know you the way my dad has."

Her fingers curl around his and she lifts his hand to her lips in a quiet gesture of promise.

Castle's eyes narrow. "Is she going to have that chance?"

"Well…" Beckett sighs, thumbing his knuckles. "She's going to Europe with Sophia in a couple weeks, but she needs a place to stay for two days while they get the rest of their trip finalized. She would stay with my dad, but you know how small his place is, and she would stay with Soph, but there's only one bedroom at her place, too."

Yes, he knows that, too, considering Sophia's place used to be Beckett's place.

"So…"

Kate winces. "I kind of told her she could stay with us? It's just two days, three at most. You've met my cousin, she's the operate by the seat of her pants type; they haven't even finalized their flights. I think they're trying to fly standby sometime before the twenty-eighth."

And suddenly, everything falls into place. The soft kisses, the caramel smiley face in his popcorn. It's Alexis and her _Hello, Kitty_ backpack, her lightsabers, and that stupid Vespa Beckett had tormented him about getting his daughter all over again. He's being bribed. Majorly bribed.

"I'm sorry, I should've checked with you before I told her yes, but you were in a meeting and your phone was off, and she did that thing where she –"

"Made a dig about me being a dog and you didn't want to put her off and give her more ammunition against me?"

His wife settles in his lap, her chest colliding with his as her mouth slides up his neck and over his jaw to his lips.

"Can you blame me? I can't yell at her the way I can other people."

"The fact that you yell at other people to defend my honor is still so _hot_," he breathes, combing gentle fingers through her low ponytail.

Beckett chuckles, tugging gently on his lip. "I will absolutely make it worth your while, and not just with the popcorn."

His fingers slip under her shirt, moving over the ridges of her spine with practiced ease.

"You will, hmm?"

"I will," she confirms, her breath puffing against his mouth. Her fingers slip through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. "And hey, maybe you'll bond?"

* * *

They are most certainly _not_ bonding.

Hell, they aren't even speaking.

Really, they just got off on the wrong foot. Kate had been pulled into an interview just as she'd been about to leave, and he'd been the one to greet his wife's aunt at their front door. Then he'd stuck his foot in his mouth by asking about the amount of luggage Theresa had brought with her – though how was he to know half of it would be staying with her daughter? His death-trap stairs and the fact that he didn't immediately volunteer his bedroom to save her from them probably did him in.

So here they sit, silent save for the ticking sounds of Theresa's tablet as she posts on Facebook. No doubt about what a cad her niece's husband is. Well, that's going to change, because he is about to charm her so hard, she won't know what hit her.

"Theresa?" he begins, wincing when she barely spares him a glance. "Ah, um, Aunt Theresa?"

Oh, wow, there's the family resemblance. Kate used to glare at him exactly the same way. Point taken, no calling her Aunt Theresa, then.

He settles for no names at all. "Would you like a drink? Water? Wine? A soft drink? Fruit juice?" He's stocked just about any liquid under the sun in hopes that something will suit his wife's aunt's fancy. Unless she only drinks baby tears or something similar, because if that's the case, he's screwed.

"Water would be nice, Richard. Thank you."

Hah, he got her to say seven words to him. His previous record was five in a row. Now he's getting somewhere.

He returns a moment later with water – lemon slice included – in one of their best glasses. Her lips lift, not a smile by any stretch, but he doesn't call attention to it in case it's the last bit of good will she bestows on him.

"So… where in Europe will you be going? I haven't been since –" Well, since Alexis was kidnapped, but that's not something he's going to tell her. "It's been a long time, but Alexis – my daughter – went after she graduated high school and she loved it."

He sees her nod thoughtfully before she offers him a brief description of the trip. Or what she thinks the trip will be, once Sophia finally finishes making the arrangements.

"My daughter doesn't have Katie's gift for planning."

Rick tries not to chuckle, he really does. There are few people who can plan things as well as his wife does; he doesn't blame Sophia for being unable to live up to the standard Kate Beckett sets.

"Well… I'm sure you'll have fun."

"Mhmm. I'm sure."

They lapse into silence once more, but he's not discouraged – well, not _too _discouraged. That was a solid three minute conversation, the longest they've had since he was forced to talk wedding details with her for the ceremony that never happened. He'll keep at it, and he will win her over.

It's just a matter of finding out _what_ will get her talking.

* * *

Two hours later, he finds himself sitting on the couch between his mother and Theresa as they chat like lifelong friends.

He doesn't know how it happened, he doesn't even know why his mother is here (though he suspects an SOS call came from his wife after he informed her that they'd just sat in silence for nearly an hour), but for the first time since she arrived, his aunt-in-law looks like she's enjoying herself.

It's mostly at his expense, as most of his mother's stories have revolved around his more embarrassing escapades, but he'll take it right now. He wouldn't mind having someone on his side, but Kate would be home soon.

"Oh, you should've seen it when I came home. Soap was everywhere. All over the floor, halfway up the cabinets, and Richard – darling boy that he was, is – had taken his clothes off in a misguided attempt to mop things up. So there he is, naked as the day he was born and doing everything he can to hide his misdeeds from me –"

"Mother," he groans, lowering his head into his hand. "I wasn't _naked_."

"You were, Richard, and there's no shame in that. It wasn't like I took pictures of your –"

"Mother, I beg you. Please don't say another word."

Beside him, Theresa laughs harder. Hard enough that the generous serving of wine his mother poured her sloshes precariously.

He doesn't reach out to help her, however. He can clean a stain from the carpet if it saves him from causing her greater ire.

"This is so not fair," he mutters, looking to the empty plate in front of him. "More cheese and crackers? Be- Kate should be home soon, and dinner's almost ready, but if you'd like, I can bring it out."

"No, no, Richard. Stay right here. We're having a lovely chat." His mother waves him off, patting his knee. "Besides, we don't want to spoil our appetites."

"No," he sighs, sitting back. "Of course not. We wouldn't want that."

When is Beckett getting home?

She scrambles into the loft just a few minutes later, caution etched across her face. Okay, maybe he had been laying it on a little bit thick in his messages, because she looks as if she's walking into a firing squad.

Castle jumps to his feet, smiling broadly at his savior-wife.

"Beckett! You're home!"

"Castle, I'm home," she mimics, taking in the scene and understanding that, perhaps, he'd been a tad melodramatic.

Still, she accepts his kiss without protest, slumping into his chest as she sheds the troubles of her day. Any other time he might suggest she unwind in the shower or the bath (with his company, of course), but tonight he needs her beside him.

"Let me just take my shoes off and I'll relieve you," she hums, skimming her hands over his sides, soothing them both.

"I'll carry your bag inside," he volunteers, lifting the bag onto his shoulder and taking her hand.

Maybe his mother will keep Theresa occupied long enough for her not to comment on their disappearance.

"How has it been?" Kate asks as soon as she closes their door behind her.

"Awkward?" he offers, lifting his eyebrows. "But she hasn't accused me of cheating on you all evening, so that's a plus."

His wife's lips turn up. "Hey, progress."

"Mmm. It's really Mother making the progress, I think. She's a glass of wine away from breaking out the baby pictures."

Beckett lights up, letting one of her boots slip from between her fingers. It clatters to the floor, but she leaves it for now. "The naked ones you won't let me see?"

"Shameless, Beckett. You'd use this opportunity to see embarrassing pictures of your dear husband?"

Abandoning the second boot, Beckett stands to meet him. She lifts onto her toes with a dancer's grace, painting her lips over his.

"That is absolutely what I'd do, _husband_." She grins, tugging him closer. Their hips bump, tantalizing, teasing, and he fights the urge to nudge her back to their bed and hide for the rest of the night.

"So does that mean I get to ask Theresa if she happens to have any embarrassing little Katie stories she'll share?"

Kate's teeth graze his lip. "She'll never give up my secrets."

Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's his fabulous shrimp carbonara, maybe it's the fact that she sees her niece _happy _and_ loved_, but Theresa totally gives up Kate's secrets.

Not just that, but she gives them up easily, patting Kate's hand every few minutes and asking, _"Katie, do you remember the time when –"_

He's never seen Beckett blush so much. But apart from the token protest, she doesn't put a stop to Aunt Theresa's story time.

After all, they are kind of bonding now.


	19. Closed Circuit TV

**Anonymous asked: Are you taking prompts? I love 7x15 fills and was wondering if you could write one where Nieman makes Kate watch the video feed when Castle finds 'her' and his reaction. I'm in a real angst mood and haven't seen one like this yet, pretty, pretty please?! Much love as always :)**

**Closed Circuit TV**

* * *

_"Beckett, no!"_

Awareness floods her, jolting her torso off the table as far as her restraints will allow. The tug grounds her, takes her out of the drugged haze she's been in for who knows how long, makes her focus on Castle.

Oh God, that's anguish in his voice. Gut-clenching, heartbreaking anguish.

What are they _doing_ to him?

_"God, no!"_

Clamping her eyes shut doesn't help. It doesn't make the sound stop, or make her wake up from this terrible dream she's trapped in. Castle's torment continues and she can't do anything but listen.

_"Kate."_

For an instant she's reliving another day, another time his voice had broken with the force of his sorrow. It's all so clear; the burning pain in her chest, the panic and chaos around her, a too-bright sky, and him. Just him and his bright eyes, his quiet pleading. Just him loving her even as she left him. Loving her always.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Her eyes fly open again, body ready to flee once more, words – his name – poised to escape the gag in her mouth. Maybe he can hear her. Maybe he's here or he's watching a video feed of this room. If he can see her, she can let him know she's okay.

"Oh good, you're awake. I didn't mean to startle you, I thought the volume was lower. I just wanted to check in on your husband and see how the search is going."

Empty. It's the only way to describe Nieman's voice. Utterly devoid of emotion, clinical to the point of nothingness.

"They're working hard to find you, you know. They won't, of course, but they're trying."

Beckett shudders, tugging at the restraints around her wrists.

"He loves you. Your husband. That's how Jerry loves me," the doctor continues, sounding almost wistful now. "Despite the situation, I want you to know I do admire you. I always have."

So is that what this is about? If Nieman can't be happy, nobody can? Or is it about Tyson? Breaking Castle for Jerry Tyson? Some sort of sick gift to the man?

Her stomach rolls.

"Do you want me to play it again? It's actually very beautiful. In a tragic sense, I suppose."

Play it again. That means it's a recording, not a live feed. That means he probably can't see her, can't hear her in real time.

Straining, she turns to face the doctor for the first time. Only then does she realize it's not just an audio recording, it's a video. Grainy and taken from a security camera, but it's clear enough.

There's a woman tied to a chair in the middle of the room. She's dark-haired, like her, wearing – shit, she's wearing her clothes. The hostage is slumped in the chair, dead already, Beckett assumes, but the team bursting through the door has no way of knowing that. _Castle_ has no way of knowing that. Especially not when her own voice caries through the space just before they witness the woman's head being blown off.

The shot blows through her, just as it flings the woman on the screen. The ache between her breasts returns, her breath quickening. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She_cannot_ have a panic attack here. Not here, not now. Not when Castle's calling her name and scrambling to the side of a dead woman.

Not when her husband is weeping over a woman he believes to be her and she's _tied_ to a table, unable to do anything but watch.

She has to keep it together and get the hell out of here. For him.

_"Kate, I'm so sorry."_

Oh, Castle. Castle, Castle, Castle.

_"I'm sorry,"_ he babbles. Beckett watches him touch the woman's hand, the hand with _her_ wedding ring on it. _"I'm sor –"_

Nieman stops the video, snapping Beckett's attention away from her husband's heartbreak. Somehow, it actually succeeds in centering her against the chaos in her head.

"See? Tragic, but beautiful."

She strains against her bindings once more, groaning Castle's name softly. She has to get to him.

"There's no point in resisting, detective. In fact, if you accept that, I can remove the gag."

Kate freezes at Nieman's approach, forcing her panic-tense muscles to release. She's been writhing since the shot, but she has to stop. She won't get out this way. There can be no frenzy when her captor is so damn calm.

No, she has to appear docile. It's the only way she's going to get out of here.

She gives a small nod of acknowledgment, hoping the other woman can't see her panic or her plan in her eyes.

"Good," the doctor praises, reaching for the cloth at Beckett's mouth. "And please, don't scream. It's tedious."

She considers it anyway, being defiant. Showing Nieman she hasn't broken her. If she's lucky, someone's nearby and they can alert the police.

"It won't work anyway, no one can hear you," Kelly adds, smirking down at her, almost gleeful at the idea of being in her head.

Maybe they can, maybe they can't, but she'll hold that test in reserve. For now… maybe she can appeal to this woman. There has to be some part of her that's sane, or at least human.

And if there isn't… she'll do something else.

Whatever it takes to get herself home.

* * *

_**Apparently, I've been hoarding fics on my tumblr and neglecting to post them here. I'd just like to apologize for that! I have five (including this one) to add to this collection and a few more that I'll post as standalone ficlets. Thanks for being patient with me!**_


	20. Nightcap

**Anonymous asked: I loooooooove Season 4 fanfics. Can you write a random one? Maybe after "Eye of the Beholder", Beckett thinks Castle is with Serena, she goes to The Old Haunt and finds him there drinking alone #loveyouRWRITINGTOOMUCH**

_I made it take place during the episode, not after, for reasons, so I hope it doesn't disappoint!_

**Nightcap**

* * *

Her day has been a disaster. An unmitigated, utterly embarrassing, total disaster. Any worse and FEMA will need to be called in for relief efforts, that's how bad it's been.

Not that FEMA would be very effective in dealing with watching her partner fall all over himself with Serena Kaye. FEMA can't help erase the image of Castle wrapped around the woman and the woman wrapped around him. FEMA wouldn't be able to do anything about Castle's red-painted lips, or the smug, victorious look that cracked through the other woman's confused, innocent façade.

Yeah, there isn't much that will help with that.

Of course, FEMA also wouldn't be able to help fix what was arguably not her finest hour, either. Arguing with him in the middle of the hallway, taunting him about 'kissing' a confession out of a suspect, or really every word that'd come out of her mouth since the insurance investigator came on the scene.

And yet she finds herself at the door to his bar. She doesn't even really want a drink, she just wants to be somewhere that helps calm her raging mind. It's probably a little pathetic, really – can't have him, might as well have his bar – and she considers what it says about her that she's here without him.

She stops short, fingers brushing the brass handle. What if she's not here without him? What if he's brought the insurance investigator _here _for a nightcap? Maybe even as an apology for his partner's ridiculous behavior.

It shouldn't hurt, that idea. She's not a jealous girlfriend or an aggrieved spouse. She's nothing; just Beckett. Just his partner, the one who can't get herself together. And Castle has every right to be here entertaining a new lady.

It's quiet in the bar when she steps inside, the music low-key and pleasant, matching the energy of the crowd. It helps already, the familiarity, the quiet. More so than going home to her empty place and pouring herself a glass of wine or whatever.

Brian greets her as she takes a seat at the bar.

"Detective Beckett, good to see you. Mr. Castle didn't say you'd be joining him tonight."

Damn it, Castle _is_ here. Maybe she should go.

"Good to see you, too." Beckett smiles quickly. "Don't worry about it; Mr. Castle doesn't know I'm here."

"Oh," he accepts, wiping the space in front of her before pouring a glass of her favorite red. He knows the drill by now: red if she's alone, Castle's choice if it's just them, and beer when the boys are around. "He's down in the office, but he didn't ask not to be disturbed…"

"No, no, I won't bother them." Her smile is strained, but she tries.

"Oh, no… Mr. Castle wasn't with anyone. He was alone."

Her hand closes around the stem of the wine glass.

"He was alone? Not with a blonde?" It sounds a little too much like an interrogation for her tastes, but she can't help it. There's a combination of hope and relief settling in her belly, but she won't let it out.

"No, just him. He checked on things up here, then headed down into the office."

He's… he's not with Serena.

"Like I said, you're welcome to join him."

Is she? If he's hiding in his office, then he probably doesn't want to see anyone, her especially. Technically, they're kind of fighting.

But then again, it's better than having Brian eye her sympathetically all evening long. Maybe she'd gone overboard asking about Castle being alone.

"Thanks, Brian. I'll head down there. And I'm going to pay you for these drinks eventually." She gestures to the wine glass, sliding off the stool. Her landing is easy and she curls her fingers around the stem to lift it off the bar.

The younger man laughs. "Not likely; boss's orders, Detective."

Her eyes roll. "Of course."

She keeps her footfalls light, but the stairs are old enough that they creak under her weight anyway, alerting Castle to her presence.

Well, a presence anyway. He can't see her from his desk. He swears he likes the mystery; she'd rather have a clear visual.

"What's up, Amy?" Castle calls. "Did Mr. Aiken have a little too much again? Go ahead and call him the cab, it's on me."

A smile touches her lips; Castle's a good owner. He cares about the people who come to his bar. He entertains the people who don't drink and watches over the people who do, and not just because he knows what might happen to his liquor license if he's negligent. Richard Castle just honestly _cares_ for people.

"I saw him," she starts, ducking her head at the way her partner stumbles to his feet. "He's okay so far."

"Beckett! Hey! What uh, what are you doing here?"

She lifts her glass. "Thought a drink would be nice."

"Ah."

"Brian said you were down here, so I figured… but I can go if you'd rather not have company…"

Castle looks almost incredulous before he clamps down on it. Maybe he's not as angry at her as she expected him to be.

"No, no. Stay, Beckett. Come sit."

Nodding, she takes the rest of the stairs to his side. A quick glance at his desk tells her more about his mood. He's drinking beer tonight, so perhaps he's not wallowing too badly.

"Thanks," she murmurs, settling in a chair, lifting her glass again. "Cheers."

"Cheers," he echoes, settling across from her, looking anywhere but at her. Okay, it's still awkward. That much she'd expected.

"I'm surprised you're not with Serena," she blurts out after a few minutes of silence.

Castle's eyes widen, probably thanks to her boldness, and he seems to fumble for an answer.

"I didn't… think that'd be very smart."

Her eyebrow lifts. "Because she's a thief?"

Castle bristles a bit. "No, because you might shoot me."

Annoyance flutters in her chest and her jaw tightens. "Keep it up and I might anyway."

It's the wrong thing to say, of course, and her partner sighs in response. Now he looks weary, slumping back in his chair, studying the pint in his hand like he's contemplating trading the lager for something stronger.

He opens his mouth, presumably to argue or defend himself, but nothing comes out.

"What?" she asks sharply. She can't help but demand it of him. He's the one with the words, she's just the one who tries to keep up.

"Forget it, Beckett. I'm not doing this tonight, not fighting with you again."

Ouch. The dismissal hurts.

"I just…" he continues anyway, gaining steam when she looks away, "it was just dinner. A diversion and a distraction. And if it hadn't been, you and I talked about… the possibility. So why am I the bad guy here?"

Words stick in her throat. He's not, but her assurances die on her tongue. She's the one who's greedy and selfish, but she can't tell him that.

He deserves so much better.

"She's not… what I'm looking for," he confesses, his words a haunting echo of something she'd said more than a year ago. "And she won't be," he trails off, looking at her almost expectantly.

She feels her cheeks heat, feels her question freeze on her tongue, and she can only nod.

He nods as well, finishing his beer in silence before getting to his feet. "Another?"

What? Her eyes flit to his face and then down to his proffered hand. Oh, he's offering her another drink. Her glass is empty. When had that happened?

A refusal springs to her lips, but an agreement is what spills out. "Yes, yeah, please."

"Sure."

His eyes slide past her to focus on the wall over her shoulder. Their fingers carefully avoid brushing as she passes her wine glass over. Still, she tries to smile for him, thanking him quietly.

The defeated slump of his shoulders on his trek up the steep stairs tells her that didn't really help. She'd missed her cue, stumbled when she should've been steady, and it's only hurt him more.

Fuck, she's never going to stop messing this up, is she?

* * *

She steps aside the next day, giving Serena Kaye her not-quite-blessing to go after her partner. He deserves a shot with someone who doesn't make him miserable, doesn't keep him waiting. So she puts her big girl pants on, offers the other woman advice about what a good man Rick Castle really is, and goes to file blank papers so she won't have to see the two of them ride off into the sunset.

Imagine her surprise when she returns to find the insurance investigator gone and her partner waiting at the edge of her desk, a thoughtful smile at his lips.

She stumbles through an attempt to find out what happened, why he's still _here_, all the while ignoring the blossom of hope in her chest. When he makes a joke about not being able to afford the date with Kaye thanks to the bill he's been saddled with, all she hears is the rough edge, the hope, and the longing in his voice from the night before.

He doesn't want Serena, he wants _her_.

That's her cue again. She doesn't miss it this time.

"Well the least the NYPD can do is take you out for a hamburger." It comes out shy, girlish, and her heart aches a bit at how easily he accepts and forgives her for being a stubborn, jealous ass.

There's an ease to their evening, a gentle rhythm of talking and teasing that's been absent for a while. Since she returned from leave at the very least. Possibly since the couch that night in LA, before she was shot. Their shoulders bump when they walk, hands brushing just long enough to know the contact is deliberate.

She doesn't falter when he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, his hand flexing experimentally before it makes contact with her upper arm. The touch is foreign, but somehow familiar as well, and she doesn't shy away. Instead she steps closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulder.

He jolts, astounded by her boldness, but his large hands splay along her spine in return. They don't do this, they don't hug except in times of grave danger; she doesn't blame him for being confused.

"You're not the bad guy," she croaks in promise.

"Mmm?"

"What you said last night… you're not the bad guy."

One corner of his lips lifts. "You're just saying that because I shared my fries at dinner."

It's a joke to liven things up and give her an out if she wants it.

"Well that didn't hurt, but even if you hadn't shared," she murmurs, lifting her head to dust her mouth against his jaw – too much, too soon – but she can't stop it, "you're still not the bad guy, Castle."

He swallows hard as he digests her words.

"Thanks," he murmurs finally, clearing his throat. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't even move except to shift them to the side, away from a crowd that looks to be lacking in spatial awareness.

Then again, what few words she has have left her, too.

They both jump at the dull buzz of her phone coming from her jacket pocket.

"Dispatch?" Castle murmurs, sweeping his broad hand up her back, pressing closer at her shiver.

"Yeah." It's quiet, reluctant. This is good right now; she doesn't want to leave it.

"Kay," he hums, pressing his lips to her hairline. "Lead the way, Beckett. And after the case, Old Haunt for a drink? It's a date I can afford."

Heat colors her cheeks. It's not just an invitation to his bar, it's a date.

"Done."


	21. The One That Lies Close To Me

**Anonymous asked: Angsty Caskett fic based on this quote: "I can't wait for the day that instead of "It's late, I have to go." you will say "It's late, let's go to bed". Maybe they are in a friends with benefits type of thing cause Kate isn't ready and every time she leaves him in the early hours of the morning after spending the night together, part of his heart leaves with her. I just love me some angst!**

**The One That Lies Close To Me**

* * *

It's easier when he's asleep.

When his body is warm and limp against hers it's easier to disengage, to slide away and start a silent search for her clothes. When he's asleep, she can take a moment to watch him, to contemplate what they're doing here before nudging just enough awareness into him to say, "It's late, I have to go."

When he's asleep, she doesn't have to see the longing in his eyes, at least not so acutely. When he's asleep, she doesn't see him fighting the urge to ask her to stay. When he's asleep, he accepts it quietly, none of the typical Castle drama. He's all sleepy fumbles and warm presses of his mouth. Each time he promises to see her in the morning before releasing her neck and slipping back against the pillows.

It's when she's awake that she really breaks his heart. When she dusts a kiss over his neck, over his still thundering pulse and chances the glance at him, she breaks him a little bit more. He always knows what's coming with that look. He knows there will be no cuddling, no pretending there will be a morning after where her coffee comes to her while she's still drowsy and wrapped in his sheets. It hurts him every time she leaves, she knows, but it's worse when he's awake.

She can't stay, not yet, but it doesn't stop her from taking what he offers. It doesn't stop her from following him home, from laughing with his family, or from crawling into his lap as soon as his mother and daughter are gone and taking joy from his lips and his hands.

It's selfish. They both know it's selfish. It was selfish the first time; just hours after she'd ended things with Josh (almost a month after Castle had done the same with Gina, no less), and it's selfish now.

He deserves better than a partner who's terrified of things being real.

Tonight he seems content enough to doze as the fervor of their coupling ebbs, waking himself every few minutes to stroke a gentle hand down her back and murmur her name or pick up a forgotten thread of conversation. They've been doing this long enough for her to know when he slips under sleep's spell for good, and that's when she'll leave. For now she stays, tracing the lines of his chest, cheek pressed to his heart.

Whatever helps her hurt him just a little less.

* * *

She thinks he's asleep most of the time, but he's not. He's good at faking, good at relaxing his muscles and training his face to simulate slumber because he knows it's easier that way. For her at least. Awake or fake asleep, it's the same ache for him each time.

None of this is what he'd been expecting to come of that first kiss, the stolen moment in the alley mean to get past a guard and save their friends. None of it is what he'd been expecting after she'd arrived at his place a day later, announcing the end of her relationship with the absentee doctor before hauling him toward her and practically mauling him in his doorway.

Oh, he'd expected the hours spent wrapped together, teasing gasps and moans from each other and bringing one another to the edge over and over. He'd _known_ how good they could be together. How in sync, how right. But the way she slides away and takes a piece of his heart each time he leaves? That he hadn't expected.

She needs time to let him in, to _really_ let him in, to see there's no reason to keep one foot tapping on the threshold. So he gives her that. He pretends to sleep and doesn't give in to the urge to lock his arms around her and coax her into staying in his bed – always his bed, never hers – when she determines it's all too much. He does that for her, feigning sleepiness, disguising what he feels with tired mumbles and exaggerated shows of rolling over and getting comfortable in the space she once occupied. In return, she gives him soft fingers through his hair and sometimes the tiniest of kisses on his shoulder blade before she goes.

He can't wait for the day she rolls toward him instead of away, and the day when she follows "it's late" with "let's sleep." He can't wait for the day when she presses her lips to his to say goodnight instead of goodbye.

But judging by the energy he feels coiling in her limbs, the quiet slide of her feet along the fitted sheet, tonight is not that night.

So he "sleeps." He relaxes his arm around her, letting the illusion of a blissed out rest take hold, evening his breathing in the process. He allows himself a sigh when she pulls away, but nothing more.

As always, she gathers her clothes and slips into them silently before letting her weight dip the mattress at his side.

She says the same thing each time, rousing him to 'wakefulness' with the softness of her words.

"It's late, Castle, I have to go."

As always, his heart stutters, but still he plays his part.

"Mmm… kay."

She surprises him this time, kissing his mouth tenderly, fluttering her fingers at his cheeks. She never does that. Never takes the risk that the kiss might turn into something more and that he might be able to convince her to stay a little longer.

He doesn't. Not this time.

"See you tomorrow," she promises, stroking his hair off his forehead. "Go back to sleep. Coffee's on me in the morning."

Another surprise. Coffee's his job, his way of promising the things she's not yet ready to hear. To have her bringing it to him has to mean… something.

But it's something that's going to have to wait until morning.

Dutifully, his eyes slip shut again, another successful performance under his belt. A moment later, she's gone, leaving only traces of her scent in the air and on his sheets, but taking another piece of him with her.


	22. An Official Debrief

**An Official Debrief**

**Rated: M**

**Pairing: Caskett**

**Prompt: At the end, for surprise.**

* * *

"Well, guess this is it."

"It doesn't have to be. We could go to dinner, debrief each other."

Her lip works its way between her teeth, the late afternoon sun bringing out shining embers of gold in her hazel eyes.

"Why, Castle? So I can be another one of your conquests?"

"Or I could be one of yours." His smile deepens, one part naughty, one part hopeful. Energy has been building between them since she hauled him into an interview room, dancing at the edges of their senses, pushing, pulsing, eager.

He rocks on the balls of his feet, watching a gentle flush spread over her neck. She knows it, too, how phenomenal they could be if they just had the chance.

"Okay," she clips, pushing on his chest with a slim finger. "Five minutes to finish up here, and you _stay put_."

"Staying put," he swears, pectoral thrumming where her finger jabbed.

"Mmm." She lifts her eyebrows, spinning on her heel to join her fellow detectives. She knows what she's doing to him, knows his eyes have slid down the line of her back to savor the gentle sway of her hips.

She's driving him insane and driving herself a little bit crazy in the process.

She just needs the chance to get him out of her system, to shake whatever insufferable, invigorating hold he has on her and write herself once again.

Just one night, that's all she needs. That's all he'll need to realize she's not going to be won over with boasts about his penis size and a constant stream of innuendo.

One glance back at him, though, and her belly flutters. Arousal replaces the irritation – mostly – and the knowledge that she's about to spend her evening with Richard Castle sends a traitorous thrill up her spine.

Fuck, she's going to do something stupid, isn't she?

She does. Oh boy, she does. He's witty and charming all through dinner; the smarmy asshole has apparently been put in his box for the time being, because they're able to actually converse like two adults on a date.

He still flirts shamelessly, of course, but once he's not so grating, she actually flirts back. She leans forward as they talk, eyes lowered seductively, gaze tracing over his lips.

She makes him squirm, she notes. His breath speeds up and hitches at the simple touch of her hand. It's thrilling, really; he's a world-famous author and yet he's absolutely tongue-tied because of her. Because of the way she traces the delicate skin between his fingers as their waitress brings their check to the table. The motion's hypnotic, suggestive in a way they both know is entirely intentional.

"Let's get out of here, Castle," she murmurs as soon as his credit card is back in his wallet, hooking her fingers over his and tugging him from his chair.

They barely make it into the cab before her mouth lands on his, her kiss bruising. She swallows his groan, slicking her tongue between his lips instead.

"Kate –"

"Shh," she snaps, fingers tensing in his hair, body rolling against his as she pushes the confines of her seat belt. "Don't. Talk."

He shuts up immediately, one hand combing through her hair to keep her in place, to give as good as he gets, tugging at her lip until she moans. His other hand curls around her hip, fingers sliding over the rise of her ass for the briefest of touches.

She mewls when he retreats, giving him only the briefest of chances to catch his breath before taking his mouth once more. They'd split a bottle of wine at dinner, but whatever alcohol she'd consumed is nowhere near as intoxicating as this. As the feel of his hands burning through her dress slacks, as the hard muscle of the leg he's somehow insinuated between hers. A couple of glasses of wine could never be as intoxicating as the slip of his fingers up her back, underneath her shirt. When had he managed to get to her skin?

They snap apart at the driver's insistence, stumbling out of the cab as soon as it brakes. Her place. They're at her place.

His lips curl at her jaw, entirely too pleased to see her fumbling with the keys. Jerk. Annoying, smug, co – mhmm – cocky jerk. And she's giving in.

It's close, it's so close, but their first truly indecent touch comes only after her front door slams under his weight. His hands disappear under her shirt, tugging the cups of her bra down to touch her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples with a lazy gentleness that contradicts the urgency of his tongue pushing between her lips.

"Cas –" her plea is lost in his kiss, lost as his fingers pinch lightly, sending tiny jolts of need down to her core.

Her own hands fall to his waist, rucking his shirt up underneath that infuriatingly sexy suede jacket. She splays her fingers wide against his body. He's not ripped, but he must do something to work out, because he's solid. Is there a writer's workout?

He groans, one hand dropping to her waistband. His large fingers fumble at the button of her pants, catching clumsily as her knuckles skate along the planes of his belly to hover at the top of his jeans.

Her palm slides over him, cupping, squeezing gently.

Okay, maybe he hadn't been exaggerating here.

He sinks his teeth into her lip at the touch, pushing his hips into her hand.

"Off," he orders gruffly, finally, _finally_ mastering her zipper well enough to slip his hand into her pants and touch her.

She shudders. "Fuck, Castle."

He pinches her nipple in response, dipping his head to watch his hand make slow, tiny circles against her already slick flesh.

Their pants and underwear hit the floor in nearly absurd unison. In any other situation, she would laugh, but she can only breathe a sigh of relief when he lets the jacket land in a heap at their feet and his fingers return to caress her without restrictions.

His shirt hangs open at the collar, an almost-mirror of her own askew top, but she doesn't stop to work toward getting completely naked. Not with his arousal between them. She closes her hand around him, flicking her tongue over his Adam's apple in time with her strokes.

"Becke – Kate," he breathes, needy and plaintive, and his fingers slip against her a little faster, buckling her knees.

It's all the encouragement he needs to twist them, practically lifting her out of the heap of fabric at her ankles as he steps out of the pile around his, pressing _her _back against the door. He pulls her hand away from him, pressing his mouth to the center of her palm when she begins to protest. It's surprisingly tender admist the frenzy, but it's also short-lived. Her shirt and bra disappear and that mouth of his finally decides to go to good use against her body.

She considers it even better use when he releases her breast with a soft pop and sinks to his knees, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her belly before burying his head (and two thick, beautiful fingers) between her legs.

He plays her expertly, draws every moan, every gasp, every strangled curse from her lips. Every bit of his attention, his intensity, is on her and this time she doesn't mind. He's laser focused on her pleasure, on holding her up as her legs threaten to give way when he finally pushes her over the edge.

Fuck, if he'd just done that as an introduction, they would've gotten along so much better.

"You mean we didn't get along, Beckett?" he drawls, telling her she'd said at least part of that aloud, pressing the flat of his tongue against her one last time. She shudders when his fingers withdraw, her fingers still clenched firmly in his hair.

She uses the grip to tug him up, to slam her lips against his once more, tasting herself on his tongue. His hips jerk forward, trapping his cock between them in a desperate search for friction.

Beckett's fingers worm between their bodies, thumb stroking maddening circles over his tip.

"Oh, we get along, Ricky," she purrs, stroking him slowly, root to tip, before hiking a leg around his waist and teasing him along her folds. "Want to improve our relations anyway?"

* * *

_"Want to improve our relations anyway?"_

He can only kiss her again, stealing her next tease from her lips as he lines up and slides home. Oh god, she feels amazing, gripping him so, so tightly, urging him deeper.

"Fuck, you're big," she mewls, nails flashing against his neck at his first long, steady stroke.

Raw desire licks at his spine, and he just knows the next thing out of his mouth is filthy and obnoxious, but she doesn't shove him away and kick him out for being raunchy. She laughs, clenching around him so tightly, he nearly loses it right then.

"Idiot." Her retort is almost affectionate. She slides her mouth over his, nipping at his lip. "Now move, damn it."

Orders have never been his strong suit. He might not have followed Detective Beckett's order to stay in the car – he'll never stay in the car, that's _boring_ – but he can follow the directive from _Kate_, the wild, sexy woman in front of him.

He moves, finding a rhythm that makes her gasp, one that makes her pant and grip him tighter. Her nails flash against his shoulders as she babbles in his ear for more, for harder, for him to let go. He can only answer her pleas again and again until she shakes around him as a second crest of release breaks over her. He gives in a few shallow, rough thrusts later, burying his face in her sweat-sheened shoulder as he rides out his own orgasm.

Beckett's fingers comb through his hair, soothing him as he catches his breath. They're still standing somehow, probably only thanks to the way he's pinned her against the door.

"Hey," he greets, clearing the hoarseness from his voice. "You okay?"

Kate laughs easily, palming the back of his head and bringing him into a slow, familiar kiss. He can't help but shudder at the touch of her tongue.

"Aside from the door handle digging into my ass? Never better, babe."

Oh, well, that he can take care of; ass massages are a specialty of his.

"Good," he murmurs, resting his forehead on hers. "Was that…?"

"Uh huh," she assures, squeezing his neck. Her wedding ring feels cool against his flushed skin. "So good," she adds, a naughty smile curling her lips upward.

"Authentic?"

She puffs a laugh, kissing his neck. It had started with an offhand comment, a 'what if' they didn't usually indulge in, but they'd both gotten into it, he thinks. He hopes.

"Except when you knew exactly where to lick on the first try, mhmm. Very authentic."

Her legs begin to unwind from his waist, but he's able to right himself instead, keeping her exactly where she is as he makes the short trek to their bedroom.

"You don't think I would've figured out how to drive you crazy on the first try, Beckett?"

–

_"You don't think I would've figured out how to drive you crazy on the first try, Beckett?"_

She laughs, cupping her husband's cheeks happily. "Castle, you absolutely figured out how to drive me crazy in the first minute. But not that way."

Challenge blooms in his eyes and his mouth covers hers as soon as their bodies land on the duvet.

"Well then, Detective Beckett, we're just going to have to have Hypothetical Early Partnership Sex Round Two."

Laughter bubbles up, spilling from between her lips. "Sure, Castle. Sure we will. Right after you take my shoes off. My toes are cra –"

The heels land in a heap against Castle's dresser as he trails his mouth down her body again. This time, he takes a moment to press his lips to the scar in the center of her chest, to acknowledge the mark with his usual reverence. It breaks "character" but it still sends her heart pounding.

"Done," he mumbles, lifting soft eyes to her. "Happy Meetiversary, Kate."

God, she loves him. So much that she buys into his ridiculous celebrations and schemes to roleplay themselves after their first case. She loves this man.

Her lips touch his forehead gently, curving against his skin. Every day is an adventure with him.

"Happy Dorky Made Up Anniversary, Castle. Now get to work."

* * *

**Prompt: So basically in celebration of 6 yrs since the first meeting CB role play themselves from back in the pilot and they go on that "debriefing" date as their s1 pilot selves and have M rated sex in a desperate, rough, I hate you but you are so goddamn irresistible way. just something abt reminiscing that what if and role-playing it to experience it.**


	23. House Calls

**Anonymous asked: Probable Cause AU- Ryan and Espo, under Gates' orders, have to bring Castle in for questioning in the middle of the night. They find Kate and Castle together at his place in their jammies/underwear.**

**House Calls**

* * *

"Javi, this is ridiculous. Castle didn't do this."

Anyone else, and he wouldn't be so utterly convinced, but this is _Castle_ they're talking about. The guy wouldn't kill anyone, not without a good reason. It would have to be something huge, someone threatening Alexis, or Martha, or Beckett. Hell, maybe even him or Javi.

He sure as hell wouldn't kill a woman to cover up an affair Kevin's still not even convinced he was having. Not after how damn long the man had spent waiting for Beckett. Not with how damn happy they both look now that they're _finally_together. Not that he's supposed to know that, but it's a terribly kept secret. And even if it weren't, there's no freaking way Castle's been eyeing someone else, too.

"I know, bro, but what do you want me to do? Tell Gates we're not bringing him in because we don't _think_ he'd kill Tessa? Even with all the evidence pointing his way? You, of all people, wouldn't do that."

It's a subtle crack at his actions in the spring, but he lets it go. The hatchet has been – mostly – buried and he's not going to dig it up right now.

"Of course not. But picking him up in the middle of the night? Without telling Beckett we're doing this? He's her partner, he's our friend, I'm just saying he deserves better than this."

"Look, I'm not disagreeing, but it's what we have to do. Beckett's off until the end of the week for the trial. It's not her case. And you know we can't call him up and warn him that we're gonna be there in five to arrest him."

It's not what he wants to hear, but it's the truth. There's no getting out of this, they can only try to minimize the damage. At least it's just him and Javi; they'd managed to convince the captain that a team of unis would be overkill. Even bringing LT would be overkill.

"Yeah, I know, I know."

Esposito nods beside him, putting the car in park. "Yeah. Alright, sooner we do this, the sooner he's making us pay with bad karaoke."

Kevin hopes his partner is right.

They both check their weapons in the elevator, away from prying eyes. They're not going in guns ablaze, but they can't ignore the training, even if when they get to Castle's door they're going to use the buzzer and wait before going to greater lengths to get the writer's attention.

"Maybe he's not home," he suggests after their first attempt goes unanswered. "Or maybe he's asleep and can't hear us."

"He said he'd be writing all week while Beckett's in court. And you know he doesn't write during the day." Javi mashes the button again.

"Doesn't mean he's writing here, though. He could be – "

Whatever he's about to suggest is cut off by the door swinging open. Both he and Javi jump back as they're welcomed by an affectionate tease.

"Martha, did you forget your key agai-" The greeting cuts off abruptly, laughter fading as the owner of the voice realizes they're not Castle's mother. Also that she's busted.

"Beckett," Javier sputters beside him. "What? What're you – and you're – what's going on?"

Beckett's face flushes in the dim light, and it takes Kevin a moment to process the bare toes and long legs that disappear underneath the hem of one of Castle's barely buttoned dress shirts. Oh. _Oh_.

Damn. It's one thing to know. It's another thing to _know_. Though maybe they're doing a better job of hiding than he'd thought if Javi's still this stunned.

"You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna come in and tell me what the hell's going on and why you're busting the door down at one in the morning?" She's going for authoritative, ignoring the fact that this is _Castle's_ door they're 'busting' down.

"Ah, yeah, yeah we are," Kevin answers for the both of them, smoothing suddenly clammy hands over his slacks.

Beckett's unamused, but she steps aside to let their gawking asses in. As soon as the door's closed, her arms cross over her chest, blocking the open – really open – collar of her shirt from them.

"Beckett, the water's getting cold, who was – oh, hey guys. What's up?"

Beckett hangs her head as Castle tries and fails to look casual in his boxers with finger-mussed hair and obviously reddened lips.

Ryan looks away first. "You uh, you both… might want to get changed. We need to take you down to the precinct."

"Instead of letting me take a bath and go to bed?" Beckett scoffs, making a valiant attempt to pretend that's all they were doing.

"I get it," Castle interrupts Kevin's reply, chuckling good-naturedly. "This is because we didn't tell you, right? You gonna drag me down to the station and interrogate me about my intentions toward Beckett? You're very funny, a little weird, but swee –"

"It's not a joke, bro. Gates ordered us to bring you in and then have a team come in and execute a search warrant for this place," Javier cuts in, shifting his weight.

Castle's face blanks and Ryan watches him look to Beckett for guidance. She looks just as stunned as her partner does, though.

"For what? What's so important that she sent you in the middle of the night? And a _search warrant_?" Beckett demands, ignoring her state of undress to step in front of her partner, protective and angry already. "On what grounds? What the hell's going on?"

"Castle…" Kevin looks past her somehow, needing to see the writer's face instead of his furious co-worker. "You're under suspicion for the murder of Tessa Horton. We told Gates you'd come quietly, so please…" he gestures. "Get dressed. You can call your lawyer in the car."

"And after that you can tell us all about this and what your intentions really are," Javi adds, gesticulating between them somewhat wildly. Nobody smiles, but he has to think it helps a little bit.

Castle's hand closes around his partner's hip, the gesture soft and intimate. "When was the murder?"

"Two nights ago," Kevin answers, glancing between Castle and Beckett as they share a look. Beckett's angry flush has been replaced with a pallor that can't be good.

"I'm going with you," she announces quietly, plucking Castle's hand off her hip and tugging him toward the bedroom. "We'll… I'm going with you."

They disappear, leaving their friends behind to gawk.

"What the hell just happened?" Esposito hisses.

"I don't know, bro," he murmurs.

Whatever it is, it's definitely not good.


	24. Enough for Now

**Prompt (from Anon): Post Kill Shot: After her therapy session, Kate spends a day with Castle. Could be anything, going to his home, or going on a pseudo date. Just to reassure herself and him. To give back and express her gratitude to him for giving her space when she needed and for his Always. Sth cute and fluffy. Full of longing and UST. It doesn't have to end in a kiss. Maybe a hug? So it can fit with canon. :)**

Thank you, Anon! I hope you enjoy this. (Posting in time for the final Castle Fanfic Monday of the hiatus, woo!)

**Enough for Now**

* * *

When she left Burke's office, she hadn't intended to find her way to his loft. She'd intended to go home by way of the Chinese place at the end of her block, lock herself in her apartment with her take out, and give herself some time to mull over her therapist's words.

She wants to be more. More than her mother's death. More than someone broken by events she couldn't control. More than a woman who hides from people who love her, people she loves.

Maybe it's thinking of the people she loves, the _person_ she loves, that leads her to his door.

Whatever it is, she stands her ground, even when the desire to flee tenses the muscles in her legs. She knocks on his door and tugs at her sleeves until they cover her hands, waiting one minute, then two, before realizing it's entirely possible that he's not even home. It's entirely possible that she's come to him and he's not even here.

"Beckett? Hey."

Beckett spins, surprised he'd managed to sneak up on her. Not just him, Alexis and Martha, too. For as long as she's known the matriarch of the Castle household, the redhead has never been exceedingly quiet, but still the three of them walked within feet of her and she didn't even notice. She really must be out of it.

"Castle! Castle, hey. Hi. Hi Martha, hi Alexis," she greets, feeling sheepish once again.

"Kate, darling, lovely to see you."

"You too, Martha," Kate offers her a faint smile, giving the same to Alexis a moment later. The girl looks on, wary of her unexpected visit, but unwilling to call her out on it. She can only offer her a small smile, an assurance that she won't be the cause of more chaos, more pain. At least not intentionally.

Alexis nods in acceptance, murmuring an invitation inside, but Beckett shakes her head.

"I should… really I should be going. Thank you, though. Another time?"

"Sure," the girl agrees, stepping around her to follow Martha into their home. The look Alexis shares with her father goes unnoticed by no one, but they let it go in the interest of keeping the boat steady.

Castle watches the women go before offering her an easy smile.

"Sorry you had to wait. We were just taking a walk. Do we have a case?"

"Ah, ah no. No case. I was just… kind of walking myself and decided to stop by."

"Oh." Every cell in his body wants to ask her to elaborate, she can tell, but he doesn't. He just waits for her to offer more.

"I'm sorry, I should… go. Let you get back to your evening."

She attempts to step around him, to retreat to her place and recuperate in peace, but his fingers curl around her elbow.

"Alexis has homework and Mother's getting ready for a date. The rest of my evening pretty much consists of going for the record number of pencils I can balance between my nose and my lip. You don't have to go, Beckett."

A smile tugs at her lips. "The record, huh? What's your current total?"

"Um, seven. I got up to eight once, but you have to hold it for ten seconds for it to count and I lost it at nine and a half."

"Damn," she laments, allowing him to see her amusement. "Well I wouldn't want to keep you from that. I'm sure it takes extensive training to prepare."

Castle laughs, sending a zing of joy through her limbs. She hasn't given him much to laugh about recently.

"Minutes upon minutes. But I can forgo tonight's training if –"

"Let's get a pizza," she blurts, the force of her interruption lifting her onto the balls of her feet. "Just… if you haven't eaten. Let's go out for pizza. My treat?"

He makes a valiant attempt at hiding his astonishment, his delight, but he ultimately fails.

"I, sure, sure. There's a great place on Spring…"

She agrees, pressing a hand to her gurgling stomach. "That'll be great. Do you… need to let them know?" She gestures to his door.

"Right. Yes. Hang on, I'll just be a minute. Oh, do you want a snack, too? They might have a wait."

Chuckling, Kate shakes her head. "I'll be okay, but thanks."

He smiles in return, nodding. "Kay. Just hang on, I'll be back."

They walk the way they do all the time, letting the natural cadence of their steps nudge them together and ease them apart. He's quiet beside her – the same quiet he's been for the past few days – letting her work things out for herself, but never straying far from her side.

He sits beside her on a step while they wait for their table to be ready, his shoulder warm against hers. She's grateful when he doesn't ask if she's okay to sit outside, or if the noise will send her cowering behind another mailbox. Instead he just perches with her, watching pedestrians pass them by.

"So pizza, huh?"

"Yeah. Just had a craving for it, I guess."

Castle smiles, accepting her answer without argument. "It'll be worth it. The wait sucks, but it'll be worth it."

Somehow, she thinks he's not just talking about their dinner.

"Clearly, if all these people are waiting for it."

He chuckles, glancing down at the buzzer in his hands. "Hey, lucky 13."

Her shoulder bumps his. "It's the only thing that's going to be lucky tonight," she teases.

A giggle spills from her lips at his mock-dismay.

"Detective Beckett, I am offended you would even think that. Willing to put your claims to the test, of course, but offended you'd even think that would be on my mind."

"Uh huh. In your dreams, Castle."

"Now, can you really call them dreams if I'm awake? Wouldn't those be more like fantasies? Or do daydreams count as dreams? I've never been really clear on that one."

Rolling her eyes, she lets that one go.

Her silence doesn't bother him, though. He turns the conversation to safer waters, pointing out passing pedestrians and telling her their imagined stories. Some are tragic, some are silly, but one has her laughing so hard the man actually turns to face them.

"Oops," Castle mumbles, snickering into his hand. "Way to blow our cover, Beckett."

"Me?" she pants, swatting at his arm. "That was _not_ my fault. You made me laugh too loud."

"Sorry." He's not sorry, she knows. She's not really sorry either.

Dinner is fantastic. The pizza is every bit as delicious as Castle had promised, conversation flows easily between them, and they leave the restaurant some time later with full bellies and warm bodies.

Despite being closer to his place than hers, Castle announces he's going to walk her home. She doesn't bother arguing, unwilling to break the ease of the evening when he's just being sweet.

It's a nice walk. Quiet, but comfortable. His knuckles brush hers, but she's careful not to react to the touch, not to take his hand in hers and give him more than she's capable of giving right now. It doesn't seem to hurt his feelings, though. If anything, he seems bolstered just by being beside her, just as she is with him at her side.

What a pair they make.

She hugs him as soon as their steps slow, the force of their collision rocking him on his heels, but he doesn't complain. No, his arms band around her without a second's hesitation, taking her affection and lending her his strength. Always lending her his strength.

"Thank you, Castle." The words barely make it out, vibrating against the soft leather covering his shoulder, but the way his arms tighten tells her he's heard them anyway.

A part of her expects his lips to brush her ear and two familiar syllables to tickle her skin, but he doesn't go that path. He's already promised always once today. No, this time he surprises her.

"Told you the pizza was that good."

Laughter bubbles from her lips. "It really was."

She pulls away just enough to see the fond smile, the happy crinkle of his eyes. Her fingers itch to trace his features, to commit the moment to memory, but she settles for squeezing him once more and stepping back.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Coffee in hand," he confirms, his hands slipping from her back with the same reluctance she feels.

"Perfect. Night, Castle."

He watches her from the sidewalk while she unlocks her door, lifting a hand to echo her wave as she lets it fall shut behind her.

It's not the ending she really wants, the conclusion to their night that involves him coming up with her and them finding their way (to her bedroom and otherwise) together, but it's enough for now.


	25. No Place Else I Could Be

**No Place Else I Could Be**

**A Season 3 AU (and follow-up to The One That Lies Close To Me)**

_**Prompt: Anonymous and alwaysapossibilityforjoy asked for a sequel to "The One That Lies Close To Me"**_

* * *

It's quiet in his loft tonight.

Alexis is studying at Paige's and his mother is out with potential investors for her school, leaving him to his own devices. He should use the time for himself, maybe even revel in it by walking around in his underwear and playing video games late into the night, but his daughter will be home at some point, so the former is risky, and the latter lost its appeal after an hour and a half. Gina would say he could write, but he can't right now; he's at an impasse and his characters are taking their sweet time telling him what they want to do.

Instead, he uses the time to think about her. About the kiss she pressed against his mouth as she said goodbye exactly nine nights ago, and the travel coffee mug she's presented to him every morning since. He thinks about the smiles she's offered since then; sweet, devious, maybe even a little promising, like she's in on a plan and she's waiting for him to catch up. He's only able to come to one conclusion:

Something has changed.

Exactly _what_ is still a mystery, of course, because he hasn't seen her outside of work since that night. It hasn't been his choice, and for the first few nights he could assume it wasn't hers either, but every night since then makes him wonder what's going on in her head.

Sitting in his office, he toys with the idea of calling her. If not to find out, just to see if she'd like to come over and split dessert with him. Even that's potentially too much, too forward, but something is different with them, with her, and maybe it's time to push a little harder. To stop feigning sleep and open his eyes.

Figuratively speaking.

His phone feels foreign in his hand as he pulls up her number. He won't text – he's not asking for a booty call – he wants her voice, and he wants her to hear his.

"Hey, Castle," she answers after just a couple rings. A part of him wonders if she's been waiting for this, for him to reach out when he hasn't before.

"Hey, Beckett. Listen, I know it's late, but… do you wanna maybe come over, have a snack, and decompress from this last case with me? Just food… not…" The thing they never talk about. "Unless of course that's how you want to decompress, because I'm open to that, too, but –"

"Castle," she cuts him off, amusement softening her voice over the line. He hears the rustle of her bed covers and braces himself for a rejection. "Have you been in your bedroom lately?"

His brow creases in confusion. What does that have to do with anything?

"No? Why?"

"Maybe you should stretch your legs. Take a walk."

He frowns. "To my bedroom? Beckett, that's not much of a walk." He stands anyway, rubbing his neck.

"Mmm, somehow I think you'll feel refreshed by it anyway."

Now he's just baffled. But he makes the short trek across his office and between the bookcase shelves at her behest.

Only to stop short as soon as he sees why she made the request.

Beckett is in his bed, cell phone pressed against her ear, wearing… what might be nothing.

"Wha – how did you?"

She grins, licking her lips. "Walked in during your epic drum solo. You didn't even look up. Truth be told, I was about to call you and lure you in here before I fell asleep."

"I had no idea," he murmurs, lowering his phone and ending the call.

Beckett tosses her phone aside, sitting up against his headboard. The comforter slips down, confirming what he'd thought; she is definitely naked. Gloriously naked.

"So… decompressing?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes. Yes, decompressing," he agrees, nearly slipping on the carpet to get to her. Her hair falls over her face, hiding her smile from him. He knows it's there, though, that's what matters. "Though, I _was_ mostly talking about a snack and maybe watching a movie. But I won't say no to this kind of decompressing either."

His lips touch her shoulder in promise. No, he's definitely not turning her away.

She hums, lifting a hand to cup his ear. "And I'm not saying no to the snack. Just… not right this second."

Rick nods against her skin, stripping to his undershirt and boxers before getting settled beside her. To his surprise, she doesn't press closer, doesn't kiss him. Instead, her fingers collide with his chest, tracing the line of his sternum thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, lifting her eyes to his.

"For what? Why?"

Kate's lip slips between her teeth. "For… not being fair. Making you wait like this."

Wait. Is this an _actual_ conversation about them?

"I knew what I was signing up for, Beckett." Except he hadn't, and they both know it. He can talk a big game about patience and waiting for her to dive in with him, he can hide his disappointment under fake sleeping all he wants, but they both know he had no idea what he was signing up for with that first night.

She smiles sadly. "Knowing and deserving are two different things, Castle. Knowing doesn't mean you can't want it to be different than it is."

That's true. Also true is the fact that he _does_ want something different, something more. He wants both the movie nights and the nights spent in his bed. He won't say that, though, not yet.

Beckett's fingers skate up his chest, dancing over his neck. Instinct has him listing into her, into the warmth of her hands.

"Me too," she whispers. "I want that, too."

Her lips touch his, feather light, careful, unassuming. It's so unlike the other kisses she initiates, it takes his brain a moment to respond, and when he does, she's already pulling away.

"So, since it's late, why don't you go get that snack you were talking about and bring it in here? And then once we've eaten, let's go to bed?" She doesn't look at him until the very last moment, until it becomes clear what she's offering him.

_Let's go to bed,_ instead of _I have to go_.

His mouth flattens against hers, tongue probing past her lips. He tastes her hope, her effort, her mint toothpaste?

"Used your toothbrush," she mumbles in explanation when his tongue retreats to the corner of her mouth. "Hope that was okay."

"Don't care," he gruffs, slipping his hand into her hair. "You're staying?"

She nods once, lifting into him. "Yeah. Yes, I'm staying. I'm staying."


	26. Lovers, Not Fighters

**kingsfillion asked: can you maybe do a fic from 3x22 to love and die in la? with the scene in the hotel where kate and rick have that really nice and important talk and then kate says that she would go to sleep? but with the turn that kate does come back and castle did not go to his room and they get very close?**

**Lovers, Not Fighters**

* * *

She should've stayed.

Whatever it was that was crackling between them on the couch, whatever it _is_that's always simmering between them, it can't be ignored much longer. The look on his face had said as much. The nervous churn of her guts had said as much.

She should've stayed. She should've given him the chance to speak, to say what he'd opened his mouth to say, even though a part of her is sure she already knows where he was going.

Josh had known. He'd known before an innocent tease over a soap opera cast photo had turned into a quiet – entirely passionless – fight. He'd known long before she'd curled a protective arm around herself and refused to acknowledge his words.

_"You're in love with him, Kate, so be with him."_

Acknowledgement or not, she'd heard them. She still hears them. She lives them each and every day.

And yet she'd closed the door on her partner, barricading herself against the possibilities ahead.

She should've stayed.

He would've stayed. He would've listened all night if that's what she'd asked of him. She could've said just about anything, told him just about any story, and he would've have turned her away or run to hide in his room. Yet that's exactly what she did. She's hiding – fighting it.

Mike said she was fighting it, and she is. Fighting it with everything she has.

Josh said she was fighting it, and she is. Fighting tooth and nail.

She's tired of fighting. Tired of stepping back when she wants to step forward.

Her fingers close on the door handle, the metal slim and smooth under her hand.

Step forward. She can step forward.

She can stay.

* * *

She comes back.

He's surprised. He won't pretend otherwise; her goodnight had been so firm, so formal, he'd resigned himself to not seeing her again until the morning. Until she's had a chance to fortify her armor once more. But here she is, and he's not disappointed to see her emerge from her bedroom, her hair mussed and her eyes wild.

He's still standing by the couch, arms hanging limp at his sides, but his fingers clench at the sight of her.

She's come back, and from the looks of it, it isn't for the leftover wine in her glass. That has to mean something.

Words freeze in his throat when he attempts to speak, but she doesn't seem to notice his troubles. She's determined. Her shoulders square, chin lifting in defiance – against what? Him? He doesn't know. But for all that bravado, her eyes flash with uncertainty.

"Beckett," he manages after a moment. "I… thought you were going to bed?"

She strides to him, stopping as they come nearly toe to toe with one another.

"I'm tired, Castle."

"You know, I hear sleep helps with that." He tries to sound light, tries to make it a joke. He can't push too hard, say too much too soon.

"Not like that," Beckett denies, swiping a hand through her hair. "I'm… Royce said I was fighting against this. Before he dumped me, _Josh_ said I was fighting against this –"

Against _this_? Against _what_?

She's not making much sense, but he can't interrupt just yet.

"Fighting what?" he asks finally, when she seems to have stalled and lost her words or her nerve.

His hands unfurl, lifting to touch her shoulder. He thumbs her sleeve, slipping his hand down her arm and over has bicep. She doesn't break way, doesn't chide him for the touch, and his hand slides slower, finally dipping to caress her wrist. Her bones jut sharply against his fingertips, reminding him that for as often as she seems invincible, she's delicate, too.

"You, Castle," she breathes, lurching into him. "Fighting against this, you."

Her forehead connects with his chin, probably harder than she intends. It doesn't hurt, apart from rattling his teeth a little bit; he'll withstand far more to have Kate Beckett opening up to him.

"I don't want you to fight me, Kate," he says, forcing his lips to move. "I wanna be lovers, not fighters."

She laughs almost wryly, soft and choked against his jaw.

"I don't know how not to be a fighter, Castle. I try, and I freeze, and it… I don't know how."

He summons enough courage to bring her closer. She hasn't run yet, hasn't backed away from his touch, maybe she won't now.

His lips skim the shell of her ear. "I'll teach you, Beckett. I'll teach you."

She exhales, shaky even to his ears. Before he can reassure her, promise her it's going to be okay, Kate lifts her face, tugging on the collar of his shirt to bring his head down to hers.

"Then teach me."

And then she kisses him.


	27. TGIF

**Prompt from Anonymous: Any chance on you continuing reference material?**

Thank you so much, Anon! Hopefully this lives up to the original.

And yay! I'm posting this for #CastleThemeDay. Fluffy/Happy fic all around!

**TGIF**

* * *

"She's driving me insane, Rick."

It's not the most gracious greeting she could give him, especially after a long week of barely seeing each other, but her boyfriend doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, honey, how was your day?" he teases, stepping aside to allow her entry into his apartment. She'd been a little annoyed when he'd simply buzzed her up instead of coming downstairs to meet her, but judging by the smells in his place, he'd been in the middle of cooking the dinner he'd promised her. He's forgiven.

Sheepish, Kate stretches onto her toes to kiss his cheek. "Sorry. I'm just, ugh, the end of the year can't come fast enough. Hell, spring break can't come fast enough."

"That bad, huh?" Rick slips his hand down her arm, lacing their fingers together in solidarity. "You gonna last another two weeks?"

"You joke, but at this point I'm really not sure. She complained for four hours last night about how much work she has, then proceeded to kill her light as _I_ was studying, and bitched when I turned on my desk lamp."

He nods, tilting his head. "And today?" His thumb swipes her knuckles, coaxing the rest of the story out of her. He always does this, nudges her toward letting it out and talking things through.

"She left a passive-aggressive note on the hall bulletin board about how we need to be conscientious that our study habits don't negatively impact the sleep of others."

"What a bitch," Rick murmurs, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah," she sighs. "It's like freshman year all over again. But the upside is she's not here, and I brought a bottle of wine to help me get through another night of your terrible movies."

He laughs, pulling her closer. "My terrible movies are what got you to kiss me for the first time, Beckett. You love them."

"Sure, pal. That's exactly it." She bumps him, offering her lips for another kiss. His movies aren't _bad_, but they're definitely not what made her kiss him for the first time back in the fall. "How'd your meeting go?"

He'd been nervous, she knows. She'd heard it in his voice when he called before going into Black Pawn, the worry that his manuscript wasn't going to live up to expectations, the worry that the next one he wanted to pitch wouldn't even get off the ground.

Now he beams, practically vibrating with excitement.

"They loved it. All of it. They signed me on for another four books, Kate. Four."

She can't stop herself from tossing her arms around his neck and smearing her mouth over his. His joy is her joy in that moment, and he spins her in slow circles, chuckling against her lips.

"They love it?" she repeats, palming the back of his head.

Rick smiles bashfully, rubbing his noise against hers. "Yeah. They said it was twisty and exciting, everything they wanted to measure up to the first two."

Kate grins again, whispering another kiss over his mouth. "I'm so proud of you."

He seems to stand even taller at that. At her pride in him. "Thanks. Gina, my publisher, was impressed I got it done while taking a full course load, too."

"Well, it's amazing what you get done when you stop reciting trivia long enough to work."

"Hey now. We both know I never stop spouting trivia."

"Mmm, that's fair. Not even when you're asleep. The other night you threw your arm around me and asked how many minutes of dialogue there were in _2001: A Space Odyssey_."

"I did _not_."

"Sorry, babe. You did."

"Well," he starts, hands making lazy paths along her back. "Did I at least answer the question?"

"Around forty."

"I said that?" His eyebrows lift. "Usually I'm much more precise than that. Huh."

Pecking his mouth, Kate steps away to close his apartment door. "No, I knew that from freshman English. You just snuggled closer, put your hand on my boob, and told me I smelled good before passing out again."

Rick laughs, snaking her bag off her shoulder and carrying it to his bedroom while she flops in the middle of his plush couch. He returns a moment later with the bottle of wine, already peeling the wrapper from the neck and going for the corkscrew.

"So what else has been going on this week?"

Sitting up, Kate leans her cheek on her arm. He's sweet. They don't have class together this semester, but every morning (save for when she sleeps here), he meets her outside her dorm and walks her to her first class before they go their separate ways for the day. If they've spent more time apart than together – like they have these last few days – at the end of the week, he asks for the post-mortem. It helps somehow, getting the chance to vent and let go of the shit once and for all.

"Besides contemplating roommate-icide?"

He brings her a full glass, swooping in to kiss her before she even has the chance to taste it. Not that she minds; she'd rather have his taste on her lips than wine.

"Yeah, besides that. Plus, I'm not sure that's really a word anyway."

He squirms onto the couch with her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She has a love-hate relationship with the move; keeping him close is nice, but his chin is so damn hard, she can't help but mewl and shrug him off.

"Shut up. It is now. But no, nothing else, really. Just working through that massive homework I told you about the other night. I wanted to start studying for my Econ test, but she who wants to be a pain has made that impossible."

Kate sips her wine, trying to release the last of her disgust before she takes it out on her boyfriend. Rick can doesn't deserve to face her ire at someone else's misdeeds. He's annoying enough on his own.

"Sorry, honey. You wanna study here this weekend? I have homework and edits to do; we could just bum around and work."

The prospect of doing that sounds amazing, except –

"Can't, at least not all weekend. I'm having lunch with my parents tomorrow."

His palm smooths over her knee. "Well, I could give you a key and that way you can come and go as you please…"

It's tentative, the offer, and he doesn't look her in the eye while she processes what he's saying.

"Rick… are you giving me a key?"

"I'm… offering to give you a key. So you can come back after lunch with your parents, if you want, and we can work the rest of the weekend. And then you can keep it… after that."

Dragging her teeth over her lower lip, Kate nods. "I want. I do. But there's something else happening this weekend."

He slumps a little bit, looking both relieved and disappointed. "There is?"

Scooting closer, she kisses the curve of his shoulder. "My RA suckered us all into saying we're coming to stupid dorm event on Sunday so she'll get brownie points with housing."

"_Fun_."

"But," she continues, slipping her hand down his chest. "You can come with me. We were encouraged to bring guests. I thought you might think it was stupid, so I didn't mention it sooner."

Rick grins. "I would be delighted to attend your mandatory fun event."

They both kind of hate the goofy social events the school puts on, but maybe it won't be as annoying if they're there together.

"Kay. It's called BJs in Your PJs," she drawls, tracing the logo on his chest. "And we could go over there after spending most of the weekend here?"

Rick sputters around the lip of his wine glass. "What now?"

Giggling, she turns her face into his arm. "Ice cream night, Rick. Ben and Jerry's and pajamas."

"Oh."

"Did you really think the housing department would sponsor _that_?"

"Well, no. But Kate –"

She laughs harder, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Well I'm not saying it's off the table for _after_. I was already planning to let you get to second or third base in my bed…"

"Wouldn't that be more of a home run?"

"For you, maybe."

They dissolve into harder giggles, their wine sloshing precariously in their glasses.

"Seriously, I'd love to," he pants finally. "And not just because you enticed me with the idea of getting lucky in your bed. Though, I will admit that has been a fantasy of mine since we started dating."

She smacks his chest lightly, even as she snickers.

"Hey! You started it with your innuendo laced dorm event."

"Yeah, yeah. I think there's a reason it's held in the women's dorms instead of the men's."

"Yeah, probably," he chuckles.

Setting their wine glasses aside, Rick's arm falls around her waist, tugging her in for a kiss she's happy to paint across his lips.

He hums. "I am so glad this week is over."

"You and me both," she agrees, giving his lip a teasing nip. Rick growls her name, stealing her breath with another hard kiss.

Her fingers curl in his t-shirt collar when she breaks away, keeping him close even as she supplies her lungs with much-needed air. He doesn't seem to be complaining, though. Instead, her boyfriend hums, trailing his mouth over her jaw and along her neck until she shudders, arching into him.

Shit, he knows her so well. He has since their first night together, if not before. He knows what she likes, what she doesn't; what drives her insane in the good ways and the bad. He makes her think, he makes her feel, he makes her look into herself to be better. He makes being with someone feel like something other than a chore.

"Hey," she breathes, cupping the back of his neck. He responds by grazing his teeth against her throat – somewhere she can cover tomorrow at lunch if he knows what's good for him – and nuzzling closer, but she knows he's listening.

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

Rick sucks in a breath, fingers slipping out from under her shirt as his eyes lift to hers.

Warning bells sound in her head. Shit, she shouldn't have said that. He isn't ready for that – hell, _she_ shouldn't be either. She doesn't do this; she doesn't tell anyone but her parents that she loves them.

"Listen, you don't… you don't have to say it back. You don't even have to feel it back," she adds quickly, trying to make up for her blunder all the while mentally calculating how quickly she can get into his bedroom for her stuff and get out. "I just, shit. I just wanted to get in and out of school, get a job, and find the son of a bitch who hurt my mom. But then I met you, and you made it fun to be doing this again."

"And yeah, it's only been a few months, but I just… it's your stupid movie trivia, and the fact that coffee doesn't even taste good anymore if you don't make it, and the way you stretch in the mornings like some kind of a lazy bear, and … fuck, I'm stopping now, I'm sto –"

His mouth seals over hers, halting her pathetic excuse for a declaration of love mid-word. She sinks into him, happy to show him her feelings instead of trying to find stupid words for them. Actions are louder anyway, right?

"Kate," he breathes between kisses, pushing her hair away from her face. "I love you, too. I, ah, give me a minute and I can come up with, well, something better than just that. Because it's so much more than just that."

She inhales, thumbing circles on his ear. "You don't need to. I know it all."

"Kate –"

Resting her forehead against his, she grins. He loves her. "You gonna ask me to go steady, Ricky?"

He sticks his tongue out at her, delight making his eyes so damn blue. "You asked me to feel you up in your bed to piss off your roommate; I think we've been going steady for a while."

Yeah, he has her there. On both accounts. Giggling – and oh, he's the only one who manages to make her do this, too – she pulls him in again, flicking her tongue along his lip.

"But I didn't get your letter jacket."

His eyes widen. "You got to see the rough draft of a book only three other people on the planet have read. I think that counts."

"That counts, it does," she promises, smoothing her lips over his chin. "And I loved the book."

"I know you did," he hums, catching her mouth in another kiss. "I love you."

Her breath catches. "I love you, too."

Their next kiss is aborted by a harsh groan. Belatedly, she realizes it's her stomach.

Her boyfriend drops his head to her shoulder, shaking with the force of his laughter. "From 'I love you's to 'feed me's. I see how it is."

The curve of his lips against her shirt tells her that, for all his grousing, he's not upset in the least.

"Should be ready in ten," he adds, shifting so they're stretched out on their sides. His ass has to be hanging off the couch, but he doesn't complain.

"Kay," she murmurs, dipping her head to quell the rise of another giddy smile. Shit, she's one of those dopey people now. "Thank you, by the way."

Rick's fingers slip along her back, keeping her close without confining her. "For what?"

Her lips lift. "For not using a movie quote to tell me you love me."

"And just for that, I am cancelling my plan to stand outside your lunch with my boom box."

Kate snickers, turning her face against his arm. "Oh, damn. When will you ever get another opportunity to embarrass me?"

"Mmm, well, since we're going to BJs in Your PJs together, maybe over spring break when you're at home with your parents. I'll make it nice and loud, too."

She protests, but they both know it's mostly for show.


	28. ab hinc

Anonymous asked: hi you've written a prompt for me before and it was incredible let me say and idk if you're looking for prompts right now but if you want something particularly angsty idk if you'd be willing to write a 3x24/4x01 AU where castle was a second faster and saved beckett but got shot instead? if not that's totally fine :)

Hey there Anon! Thank you so much! I'm not sure this turned out as angsty as you were maybe looking for, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

**ab hinc**

**A 3x24/4x01 Caskett AU**

* * *

He wakes drenched in sweat, cotton in his mouth.

Fire shoots through his back, concentrating on his shoulder, telling him he slept too long and now he's overdue for another pill.

That's been Beckett's job since they brought him home, her penance for his injury. She spends each night in the chair a few feet from his bed instead of beside him, keeping silent watch. Her lap is always full with files, bits of things to go on that ultimately lead nowhere. His shooter's a ghost, in the wind, and she blames herself.

He tries to tell her he doesn't want that – he's the one who shoved her out of the way, there's no reason for her to punish herself for this – but she rarely heeds him.

"Hey," she hums, halting his attempt to push himself up. Her fingers brush his neck, lifting his drenched collar away from his neck. "Sorry, sorry. Javi called, I got caught up."

Smacking his lips, he nods, letting her blow cool air over his overheated skin. "Gotacase?"

"No," she denies, a little too quickly for it to be the truth. She's been going to work, but only for as long as it takes to do some paperwork and be seen by the new captain. The rest of the time, she's with him, pouring over her files, making him eat despite his absentee appetite, making him laugh and remember more of the damn good things about being alive.

"No?" he repeats, lifting an eyebrow. It doesn't quite have the same weight when his face is mashed into his pillow, but Beckett indulges him anyway.

"He does. I don't," she insists, smoothing her hand down his back. "You need to get up? Bathroom? I'll get you a compress and a clean shirt along with your pills while you do that."

"No. Well, yeah, yeah. Need that. But…" He can't explain. The words just drift away in his head. "What time's it?"

She winces. "Nine."

Ah. No wonder he feels like shit. He's almost two hours past due.

"Sorry, Castle," Beckett whispers, thumbing the small of his back. Her eyes dip in shame. "That one's on me."

"Mmm, in that case, I expect you to make it up to me with a movie marathon of my choosing and a massage."

Her lips quirk at that, seeing his benevolent offer for what it really is: extortion.

"Sure. I can make this transgression up to you with a marathon of your favorite movies and a massage. You want anything else?"

"A milkshake."

Her nose wrinkles adorably, but she nods. "A milkshake it is. Come on, let's get you moving."

The process of getting him out of bed is rough; with the pills in his system, he's a little more limber, a little less shaky, and angst on her face doesn't last nearly as long. Without them, he's all jerky movements and quiet hisses, and his partner's breath hitches against his skin as she helps him to his feet.

"I'm so sorry, Castle."

"Don't be," he insists, his voice gruff with pain and the remnants of sleep. "Milkshakes, Beckett. Movies, massages, make outs."

He can't stop her guilt, but he can try not to fan it.

She puffs a laugh, cradling his bad arm between them. Her thumb brushes his elbow, slow, hypnotic, and his forehead drops to rest against hers. She loves him back. She'd told him so as soon as he'd shaken off the anesthesia, whispering it against his skin along with an admonishment not to pull anything like that again.

"If you're adding make outs to the agenda, you're gonna need to brush your teeth," she hums, a familiar teasing lilt returning to her voice. His chest swells, proud to have banished her sadness for even just a moment.

"Mmm, I think I can do that. Give me five and I'll be minty fresh for you."

Beckett shakes her head, feathering her lips against the corner of his mouth. "Pretty sure you're always fresh for me, Castle."

She's not wrong. He can't do much about it these days, but he's always pretty fresh for her. And when he's better, he'll be able to demonstrate that.

When, not if. It's what he has to tell himself when every step jars his wound and steals his breath – when, not if. It's what he has to tell himself when he gets the urge to write and has to do so one-handed, hunting and pecking at his keyboard – when, not if. It's what he tells himself when someone has to help him dress and undress – when he's better, not if.

There's no if, only when.

* * *

**ab hinc - **"from here on"


	29. Set in Stone

Anonymous asked: I came across an older Castle headcanon post of yours that had Beckett taking Castle to her mother's grave for the first time after Dressed To Kill. I would love to read that. So, if you are ever in that state of mind -rather than fluffy or your AU-verses - think about it. You always write the voices of C/B so on point. Thanks.

_Hi Anon! I'd almost forgotten about that headcanon post, so I had to make sure I reread it before I started this. It turned out a little bit differently from what I thought it might, but hopefully it fits the bill!_

**Set in Stone**

* * *

Her knee bounces the entire cab ride.

She isn't nervous. At least not in the classic, traditional sense of the word, but she isn't sanguine about things either. This is new for her. A first.

Judging by the way he squirms beside her, it's a first for her fiancé, too, and he's taking it seriously.

Honestly, she loves him a little more for it.

He's still looking out the window when the cab rolls to a stop, taking everything in with fresh eyes, and she hesitates for just a moment before reaching for him.

"You ready?" she asks, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her thumb circles his wrist above the cuff of his jacket, drawing his attention back to her instead of the wrought iron gates they're idling beside.

Castle blinks, shaking himself out of his contemplation before nodding.

"Yeah," he breathes, leaning across the car to kiss her. It's nothing more than a quick smudge of his lips, but it steadies them both. "Yeah, I'm ready. Are you?"

She nods, paying their cab fare before heaving herself out of the backseat.

He waits at the curb, hands deep in his jacket pocket, offering her a small smile as she joins him.

"Lead the way, Kate."

The world fades away the moment they step through the gates. A reverent hush falls over the grounds, their steps nothing more than muted thuds against the sidewalk, and she has to actually look back to make sure he's still following her.

She reaches out a hand to him, offering a reassuring press as soon as their fingers fit together.

"Almost there," she assures. Not that she thinks her mystery writer husband would ever turn down the opportunity to stroll through this place.

Castle nods, squeezing her hand in return. "I'm with you."

He stays with her as she changes paths, leaving the concrete in favor of taking long stride across the grass before finally coming to a stop in front of a headstone. She's relieved to see everything is neat, well-kept, even though the grass is still brown from the winter.

"I was eight when they bought the plots," she starts, the memory so stark, so clear, that she needs to let it out. "I remember a lawyer coming to our house one night to finalize the paperwork and help them write their Wills. They wouldn't let me stay in the room while they talked, but I remember sitting in the chair closest to the doorway, just listening."

Castle nods but doesn't break her flow, swiping his thumb across her knuckles instead.

"It freaked me out so badly, hearing them talk about what to do in the event of their deaths, I stood at the foot of their bed and watched them sleep that night. And every night for a week." She shakes her head, huffing softly at her own childish naiveté.

Her fiancé chuckles beside her, pulling her hand closer to his belly in an unspoken promise that he isn't laughing at her.

"What happened at the end of the week?"

"My mom woke up. I scared the shit out of her, I know, but before she could be angry with me, I just… I lost it. It was a complete meltdown, Castle."

Affection softens his face even more.

"But Mom just pulled me into the center of their bed and wrapped me up, letting me get it all out before she explained why it had been important for them to do that, to make sure things would be taken care of just in case something happened. She said she had no plans to need any of it for a very long time," her voice cracks, but she soldiers ahead with straightened shoulders and a lifted chin. "And the day we had to choose her headstone, that conversation was the only thing I could think of."

"Kate," he breathes, using their joined hands to pull her into his side. Her breath stutters, but she doesn't let herself stop. Doesn't let the words get caught in her throat.

"I watched my dad sleep for weeks after she died. It was like I was eight again, needing to see him breathe, needing to know he was still there."

Castle's arms tighten around her. She knows he's putting things together, remembering the nights he's opened his eyes to find her leaning on her elbow, hand curled against his chest, watching his face.

"I'm here," he promises into her hair. "I'm here."

Yes, he is. He's here.

She takes a moment to breathe, to brush her nose against his neck, savoring him. His aftershave, the steady thump of his pulse, just him.

"You are," she agrees finally, lifting her face.

He offers her a tender smile, swiping his thumb against the line of her cheek. She doesn't apologize for the moisture he finds and he doesn't mention it. Instead she musters a smile for him, lifting onto her toes to touch her mouth to his.

"Kay," she clears her throat, smoothing his collar down with a steady hand. "You good?"

Rick nods, squaring his shoulders. "I'm good."

"Okay then." Wrapping her arm around his waist, she turns back to the stone. "Rick, this is my mom. Mom, this is Rick Castle."

Lifting her eyes to his, she smiles once more. "We're getting married in May."


	30. Ragged Joy

Anonymous asked: Could u maybe write a fic where instead of walking off the bed room they sit down on the couch and talk things through. (Then of course things lead to the bedroom) thanks!

_Hiii, I am so so sorry this took me forever to write for you. I hope you like this!_

**Ragged Joy**

**A post-8x08 fic**

* * *

They make it as far as the door to their bedroom before the ragged edge of guilt overwhelms the joy in her heart, forcing her feet to stutter, bringing them both to an unceremonious stop.

Castle's hand tightens around hers, but he doesn't coax her forward. Instead, he turns, holding her hand against his chest, waiting for the moment she says what she needs to say.

"I'm sorry," she blurts, watching his jaw tighten a fraction. He must be so tired of sorry from her. Always sorry. "Just… can we sit a minute?"

He nods, keeping a firm hold on her hand even as she steps to the cushy chair by his dresser. It's not large enough for them to sit side by side, but they'll manage if she nudges him down and settles across his lap.

One of his hands slips around her back, steadying her as they squirm to get comfortable, the other lifts the back of her hand to his mouth.

A minute passes, then two. Still, she can't make her throat work, can't force words to come. An eyebrow lifts in question, prompting her lip to retreat from between her teeth.

"You said okay."

His lips whisper over her fingertips, seductive even in his seriousness.

"I did."

"Why? You were so angry earlier, and you just… isn't there more you want to say?"

Her husband's eyes flash, burning crystal blue in the light from their bathroom.

"I'd rather say it while you're naked," he growls, pulling her down for a fierce kiss, raking his tongue over her lips with her sharp inhale.

His mouth devastates hers, unrelenting even when her lungs begin to burn for oxygen. She doesn't complain, won't protest or push him away, though. This is for him as much as it is for her.

"I just had hoped that, after everything we've been through, you would've needed me on it with you from the start," he rasps finally, sucking in a breath that has his chest expanding against hers. "Not as a last resort or because the jig was up."

Kate's heart slams against her ribs. He thinks – shit.

"Castle, Castle, no. I need you. I need you for_ everything_. It starts and it ends with you. I just wanted to protect you."

"By packing a bag and walking out? By pretending to need space like there was somewhere we'd gone wrong?" He shakes his head, licking his lips. "I've heard 'it's not you it's me' a few times before, Kate. Usually that means it's me."

Her fingertips slide over his cheeks, his chin. Anything to get his eyes on hers. "No, no, babe, no. I just… I couldn't tell you. I wanted to keep you out of it. Keep your blood from being on my hands, too. You are not expendable."

He gapes, fingers tightening against her hip. His touch brands her through her slacks, but she doesn't ask him to loosen his hold. "And you think you are? You think I want to bury my wife and have no idea why she's gone?"

"That's not what I mean," she murmurs, touching her lips to his once more. It's a short press, barely even a kiss, but she needs it. She needs to wash away how easily they could be talking about her mother's death, instead of her own hypothetical demise. "I just… this started because of me, I shouldn't drag you down if things…"

"Beckett," he snaps her name, consonants hard in the quiet of their bedroom. "There's no dragging me down, there's only doing this with me or not."

"Do or do not, there is no try?" she offers, hoping to see a smile grace his lips, no matter how fleeting it might be.

Castle snorts, softening once again. "Something like that."

Beckett slumps, pressing her face into the shelter of her husband's neck. "I'm so sorry, Castle."

He swallows hard, turning his cheek against the crown of her head. "I know. Are you with me, though? Am I with you?"

"You are," she insists, feathering a kiss over his skin. "And I'm with you. Always with you."

She feels him inhale, feels the shudder of his breath, but doesn't push him to speak. He should have the opportunity to gather his thoughts, to take in everything he's learned in the last day.

"Okay."

It's exactly what he said before, standing in the middle of their living room. It's quiet, conclusive, firm. It's a promise that they're going to be okay, even if it takes work.

She'll put in the work for him. For them.

"Okay," she echoes, toying with top button on his shirt. Castle hums, his chest rumbling beneath her hand.

"Okay," he repeats, plucking her fingers from his clothing and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His five o'clock shadow scrapes at her skin, sending a shiver through her. "I'm glad we had that talk, but now I want you to take your clothes off, put them in the hamper, and meet me in the bed."


	31. No Two Are Alike

Anonymous asked: Castle wakes Kate in the middle of the night so he can show her the first snow of the year. PRE OGMGOGMGOMGOGM PLEASE

_I love, love, love this prompt, Anon. Thank you for sending it my way. I hope this delivers!_

**No Two Are Alike**

**A Season 3 ficlet - set after Last Call**

* * *

The first flake to hit his forehead has him stopping in his tracks. The snowfall is earlier than normal. Not unprecedented, but the news stations hadn't said a word about precipitation, making this more than a little surprising.

It's beautiful, though. Each flake is different, random in size, something unique and special.

It won't stick. The ground is far too warm for that. But that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it for now, enjoy the way the snow makes lazy trails through the air before fluttering to the ground and melting.

That doesn't mean he can't share it with someone while it's here.

He considers jogging the rest of the way to the loft to get to his daughter before it stops, but he knows even at this late hour Alexis is at home, nose buried in a textbook. It's part of why he'd spent the evening at his new bar; he'd been given explicit instructions not to bother her unless the house was on fire. The first snowfall, though breathtaking, probably falls in the category of not being important enough to interrupt her. Gina will say the same thing if he tries to show up at her place, no doubt accompanying it with a reminder that _she_ has a real job and needs her sleep.

And, if he allows himself a moment of honesty, his daughter isn't the one he wants to share this with. Neither is his ex-wife publisher girlfriend.

Which is probably a bigger problem than he wants to deal with right now.

No, he knows exactly where he's going.

Theoretically, she should be home. It's late enough and she hasn't called him to tell him she'd caught a case, so he should be able to knock on her door and request that she grab her coat and come with him. Whether she comes or not remains to be seen, but he knows seven year old Kate Beckett has to be lurking somewhere in there.

It isn't until she yanks the door open and regards him with heavy-lidded eyes, rumpled clothing, and mussed hair that he remembers the possibility of her not being alone.

Right, Josh.

She doesn't seem to be angry, though. And when she opens her mouth, it isn't to tell him to get lost so she can return to Doctor Motorcycle Boy. Instead, her confusion relaxes into a soft smile, affectionate even.

"Hey, Castle."

His nerves melt away, allowing the excitement to rise to the surface once more.

"Hey, Beckett. Is this a bad time?"

She gives a little headshake, stepping back to let him into her apartment, her eclectic inner sanctum. He can count the number of times he's been here on one hand, each time feeling a bit like an oaf trampling through a sacred space.

"No, you're fine. I guess I fell asleep on the couch when I got home from work." She yawns as if to prove her point, swiping sleep from her eyes.

Rick chuckles, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "I've done that a few times."

"Yes, crazy theories and procrastination take so much out of you," she drawls, leaning back against her door.

"Hah hah, Beckett."

Her smirk widens for a split second before she tucks it away again. "So… you gonna tell me why you came over and woke me up at one in the morning?"

Right, right. He'd had a reason, other than…

Other than just wanting to see her.

"Snow! Beckett, it's snowing."

She blinks once, confusion marring her brow. "It's - you woke me for snow?"

"Yeah. Come on old lady, grab your shoes and a coat. I want you to see it before it melts."

For just a moment it looks like she might argue, might kill him for being presumptuous, but instead her head lowers and she smiles.

"I'll get my stuff. Hang on."

A few minutes later, she nudges his elbow and nods toward the door.

"Alright, Castle; let's see this."

Trying to play it cool or not, she looks more than a little bit awed to find the light dusting gathering on the cars outside her building.

"Wow."

He grins, bobbing on the balls of his feet. "Yeah."

"When did it start?"

"About an hour ago." He looks around, watching as the snow continues to fall. "I was on my way home from The Old Haunt. I figured you would be someone to appreciate it."

Something flashes across her face – elation, maybe – before she lowers her chin.

"Alright, I'm awake and outside. Let's walk."

They stroll, bumping shoulders every few steps. Beckett trails her finger over the hood of a car, leaving abstract designs in her wake before lifting her face toward the sky.

A laugh springs from his belly as she opens her mouth to catch a snowflake on her tongue.

"Shut up," she grumbles, knocking him sideways. "It's fun. I'm surprised you aren't doing it too."

His words die on his lips when she opens her eyes, blinking snowflakes from her dark lashes.

"Your turn," she insists, poking her tongue out. "Come on, Castle, do it. I bet I can catch more than you can."

Oh, there's the competitive, playful spirit she keeps hidden most of the time.

Spinning to face her, Rick wiggles his eyebrows. "What do I get when I win?"

Beckett grins, shaking her head. "Well I know what I get when _I_ win. Lunch at Remy's tomorrow on your dime."

"I think that's fair. Loser – you – buys lunch tomorrow." His hand shoots out, ready to seal the bet with a firm shake.

She doesn't disappoint. Her hand slips into his, warm from her pocket. "You're on."

Thirty minutes and plenty of absurd laughter later, they declare it a draw. He'll get the burgers, she'll get the shakes. It's a fair compromise in his opinion.

"Thanks for this, Castle," she murmurs once the silliness has worn off and they've begun to amble again.

Tilting his head, he must not ask very loudly, because she gestures to the fat flakes collecting on his jacket collar.

"This. Bringing me out to see the snow before it melts. I love the first snow of the season."

Castle nods, letting the surge of pride warm him. He'd guessed right. "Me too."

"There's just something so pristine about it, you know? Fat, fluffy flakes untouched by the city."

"White instead of gray and brown? Sometimes even yellow, if we're in Times Square?"

She breathes a laugh. "Yeah. It's gorgeous right now."

His eyes cut sideways. The snow isn't the only thing that's gorgeous. Her nose and cheeks are rosy, flushed from the cold and maybe (though he's hesitant to assume) from the happiness of being out there with him.

"It is," he agrees, digging his hands into his pockets to keep himself from doing something ridiculous like pulling her close and kissing her with all he has.

He won't do that anyway. Not while he's with Gina, not while she's with Josh.

Instead he grins, making another joke so bad it has her head shaking, even as her body tilts into his a little bit more.


	32. Elevator Serenade

Anonymous asked: I don't exactly know how but: caskett and 'santa baby'

_I played with this one a little bit, Anon. I hope you enjoy it!_

**Elevator Serenade**

**A Season 4 ficlet**

* * *

Four words leave him sputtering.

It's not that his partner has never surprised him, never said something so truly unexpected that he's lost his train of thought, because she has – frequently – but this, this is different from anything she's ever said before.

"Beckett," he starts, choosing _his_ words carefully. "Beckett, are you messing with me?"

"Hmm?" she looks up, eyes beguiling amber in the harsh precinct lights. Like she'd never said those four words to his face. "Of course not. Why would I mess with you, Castle?"

"Besides the obvious reasons?" he says, watching her face light up with a smile. Yeah, he has her there. Messing with him is as much a part of her repertoire as driving her crazy is a staple in his.

"I just can't believe you said that. To me!" he adds, slumping back in his chair.

Her eyes roll, and she returns to the case report she's been sloughing through for the last two hours.

"I really don't think it's a big deal."

He scoffs. Not a big deal? It's a _huge _deal. It's –

"_Castle_."

Right.

Beckett shakes her head, pointing to her empty coffee cup. "Please?"

He's on his feet in an instant, curling his fingers around the ceramic handle of the NYPD mug and making his way to the break room to complete his partner's request. He hums the entire way, mulling over the best way to speak his mind.

"I just," he starts, as soon as he returns, watching her fingers curl around the mug and bring it to her chest. Her eyebrow lifts in question, almost daring him to continue.

Fine. She wants him to say it, he'll say it.

He steels his nerves, takes a deep breath, and goes for it.

"How can you hate _Santa Baby_?"

Everything stops. He watches his partner blink, once, twice, before a peal of laughter spills from her lips. Her shoulders shake with the force of her cackles, but somehow she manages to avoid spilling her coffee. She's a pro like that.

"How can I hate it?" she asks, sniffing back another laugh. "I don't know, I just do?"

"But _how_? It's a classic, Beckett."

"Classic doesn't always mean _good_, Castle," she points out, setting her mug on the desk and resting her cheek on her fist. Her shoulder lifts. "I dunno, I just don't find it sexy or fun. I never have."

"I… well, okay."

"Why? Were you secretly hoping I would sing to you, Castle?" She offers him a wry smile.

"No. I just think it's important to know my partner's favorite Christmas songs." Though, now that he's thinking about her crooning to him… maybe in a deep red, velvet Santa suit that makes her legs go on fo –

"Castle."

Right.

His eyes snap to hers once more, finding her more amused than irate. That's happening more and more now; she offers glares that tease instead of ones that promise certain torment. There's affection in her eyes instead of annoyance. Friendship instead of frustration.

Love instead of sheer lust.

"Anyway," she drawls, lifting an eyebrow. "Give me a Christmas song that's heartfelt, one that's about more than things, and I'm your girl."

He nods, already looking through his Christmas playlist for a song he thinks she will like. She nods in approval when he shows her the screen, going back to work a moment later.

And yet, when they walk out together at the end of her shift and she backs him against the wall in the elevator, sealing her lips over his for a soul-scorching kiss, she's not singing _All I Want For Christmas Is You_.

She's singing _Santa Baby_.


	33. summa cum laude

**summa cum laude**

**A Caskett AU in the Reference Material and TGIF universe (Chapters 17 and 27 in this collection)**

**Rated**: **M**

**Based on the prompt from ipreferwestside and allylobster:**

_TextsFromLastNight TFLN (614): We broke my graduation cords last night when we used them to tie each other up during sex last night_

* * *

"Richard Castle, I am going to kill you."

Uh oh.

His Post-Graduation Breakfast dance comes to an end as quickly as it began – if not faster. Still, he takes a moment to tap the wooden spoon against the edge of his favorite mixing bowl, lest he drip pancake batter everywhere as he runs away from the woman storming across his kitchen.

"I, ah, what? What'd I do?" Good Rick, go for innocent. Innocent until proven guilty, after all.

"You broke my honor cords."

Ah, that. Though in his defense – "Technically, honey, _you _broke them. When you–"

"Not the point, Rick," she cuts him off, one eyebrow practically meeting her hairline. Oh, she's so sexy when she does that. So very, very sexy.

"Well if it saves my life, I think getting the story straight is very much the point."

He's confident the woman he loves won't _actually_ murder him, though it's possible she might seriously consider wringing his neck if he's not careful. They're still a few minutes away from that, he thinks, so in the interest of telling his side of the story - and in the interest of watching the flush spread across the exposed skin of her chest and neck - he'll keep going.

"We're going to my mom and dad's later. They're going to ask what happened, and I can't exactly tell my parents that we broke my honor cords because I let you tie me up during sex!"

A chuckle rumbles low in his chest, but he does his best to tamp it down; it's neither the time nor the place, after all. Instead, he reaches for her, skimming his hands underneath the hem of the V-neck night shirt she wears and pulling her into the wall of his body.

Kate sighs, but comes without protest, knocking her head against his chin.

"Let's see these cords."

She hums, dangling the offending honor cords under his nose, waiting patiently for his eyes to focus. Slipping a hand from her shirt, he turns her wrist, giving each of the ropes a careful inspection.

Memories of the previous night roll through his mind; the way she had looked up at him as he'd looped the purple and white strands around her wrists, the way she had strained against them as his mouth made lazy trails down her belly before connecting with her –

"They're not _that_ bad," he chokes, forcing his attention back to the present. He licks his lips, indulging in the phantom taste of her on his tongue.

Kate's eyes narrow. "They're frayed."

From the way she stretched and squirmed against them with every stroke of his tongue, no doubt. But he won't say that. Not while she's still upset.

"Just a little unraveled," he says instead, brushing his thumb against the small of her back. "We'll fix that."

"Uh huh. And this one?" She shows him the second cord, this one a little worse off than the first.

"Okay, that one will be a little tougher to repair, but it doesn't look terrible."

"The bottom tassel's gone and there are strings all over the bedroom floor," she clips. "What the hell did we do last night?"

That makes him snicker. He can't help it. He doesn't remember how the knot holding the tassel came loose, though he suspects it was yanked free in the process of untying another knot, but even she has to admit the destruction is a little funny.

"We had some _really _great sex."

Kate laughs finally, lowering her hand. The cords fall, knocking against his thigh, skimming his skin. His groin tightens at the reminder of the ways _she_ had turned the tables on him; the lazy brush of the acrylic rope over his bare chest, over the sensitive skin on his inner thighs, over his… other parts.

"It was good, wasn't it?" she hums.

"Mhmm. And if I remember correctly, the honor cords were your idea. I distinctly remember hearing your sultry voice say, 'Babe, you know what we could try?' in my ear last night as I was trying to get the door unlocked."

Her teeth scrape his bare shoulder. "Don't sell me out here. I didn't hear you complaining about the suggestion."

"Oh, definitely not. But don't blame me for the unfortunate demise of your cords. It was a joint effort to do the damage we did. An extremely pleasurable joint effort."

She huffs, looping her arms around his waist. "Fine."

"Fine," he echoes, allowing his face to split into a grin. Death and maiming averted.

"And hey," he murmurs after she's relaxed against him, her body warm and pliant, pressing his lips to her hairline. "Take my cords to your mom and dad's today. They're the same."

"Yeah, but they're yours. Don't you want to show them off?"

One shoulder lifts. "I don't mind trading with you," he says. "We'll tell people mine got caught in a door or something on the way home last night."

Kate chuckles into his skin, brushing gentle fingertips up the line of his spine. "You came close to doing that a few times. Remember? On the subway?"

"And that's what makes it the perfect cover. Nobody has to know the damage was done because we tied each other up and had our wicked way with one another."

Her shoulders shake with silent laughter, but he feels the shiver travel through her limbs at the reminder. "So wicked I wasn't sure my legs would hold me when I got out of bed."

"Well," he hums, slipping his hand down her back, over the curve of her bare ass to brush the top of her thigh. "Allow me to help with that."

He lifts, dislodging her arms from his waist to draw her legs around him, ignoring her squawk of surprise. Her honor cords drop to the floor, freeing her palms to settle on his cheeks. Her mouth lands hard against his, tongue darting over his lips, retreating the moment he opens to her, daring him to chase her.

He does, slicking his tongue between her lips, brushing the roof of her mouth as her hips rock against his belly. Higher than he wants her to be, higher than she wants to be.

"Sorry I threatened to murder you," she mumbles, giving his lower lip a gentle tug. His laughter comes out strangled, but she just grins, arching in his arms. "I wouldn't have done it. Would miss you too much."

"Thanks, but you're kinda killing me right now," he says, surging toward the counter. She jolts in his arms, cursing as her skin comes into contact with the marble. "Sorry, sorry."

"S'okay," she pants, slipping her hand between them to caress him through his boxers. He jerks into her ministrations, slipping his own hands under her shirt to tease her sides, moving higher until his fingers brush the sides of her breasts. She shivers, pushing into him. "Just warm me up."

His mouth slides over her neck, tongue circling one of a couple reddened smudges she must not have noticed yet. She'll probably threaten him for all of them later, when they're getting ready to go to her parents' house for their combined graduation party and dinner, but her mewl tells him how very little she cares right now about him marking her.

"Fuck, Rick," she gasps as his thumbs brush her nipples, rolling in lazy circles, pushing into his touch. His lips twist, pleased with his ability to drive her crazy after just a few simple touches. A moment later, her hand worms into the gap in his boxers to stroke his length, robbing him of his smugness. "Off. Take it off."

He chuckles, but it's a needy, ragged thing even to his own ears. "Me or you?"

His hips buck at the twist of her hand, the slide of her thumb against his tip.

"You. Me. Both, either." She strokes him again, hooking her toe in his waistband to help guide his underwear from his hips. "Do I look like I'm picky at this point?"

Rick laughs, kicking out of his boxers and stripping her of the sleep shirt without protest. No, she doesn't look picky. She looks wild and flushed with arousal – so fucking sexy – and his mouth crashes to hers, desperate for any taste of her he can have.

Her fingers flutter against him, faltering in their rhythm as his hand trails over her chest and down her belly. She gasps into his mouth at the first caress, the first slide of his fingers through her folds, the first press of his thumb against her clit. Her hips shift, lifting off the counter when he finally presses a finger, then a second one, inside her.

His eyes slam shut as she mimics the touch, stroking as he strokes, twisting as his thumb circles, speeding up as he plays her body with practiced ease.

"Kate," he groans, scrambling for thoughts of ice caps and other cold, unsexy things, even as his hips rock into her hand. "Gotta stop that."

She puffs a laugh, grazing his chin with her teeth. "Then stop teasing me," she growls, clutching at his arm with her free hand as he doubles his efforts, pumps his fingers faster, works her higher and higher.

Rick nips at her neck. "No teasing," he breathes, feeling her shudder against him with a final flick of his thumb. Her back arches, nails flashing against his shoulder, his name spilling from her lips as she falls over the edge.

"Oh," Kate breathes, knocking her head against his, seeking his mouth. "I love you."

"Yeah?" he singsongs, coaxing the last of the aftershocks from her body before his fingers still and then withdraw.

In lieu of an answer, Kate hums, skimming her fingers over his eager flesh once again. She pulls him into the cradle of her hips, pressing her lips to his jaw, his neck. Rick jolts at the touch, needy for more. Needy for her.

Without a word, she lines him up, welcoming him into her body with a soft sigh.

His first thrust is short, shallow, giving her time to adjust, and she mewls, her hands fluttering over his hips in encouragement.

"I'm good, I'm good," she pants, burying a moan in his neck as his hips rock again; harder, deeper. "I'msogood."

Want teases at the base of his spine, egging him on. One hand tangles in her hair turning her face into his to share his breath. The other grips her hip, holds her steady for every thrust, every withdrawal from her body, every maddening step toward their peak.

Her legs wind around his waist, heels digging into the curve of his ass. The change in angle draws a harsh groan from his lips, has her pressing her breasts against his chest, her walls fluttering around him with her impending release.

"Shit, Kate," he chokes.

She nods, steadying her wobbly head with the indelicate smudge of her mouth over his. His heart stumbles at the touch, his hips stilling for the briefest of seconds before he finds his rhythm once more.

Her back arches, breathy words of encouragement coming in sharp pants against his lips, stoking the embers of desire in his belly until they engulf him. His gut tightens, each thrust growing sharper, more erratic, than the one before, chasing sweet bliss.

Slipping a hand between them, he cups her breast, drawing another heady gasp from her when he pinches her nipple. Her hips jolt, rising to meet his as his fingers slip lower, teasing light circles over her clit.

And then she's falling once again, drawing him in deeper, tighter, even as her hips roll with abandon.

He watches her chest flush, her lips parting in silent prayer, an offering of thanks to whomever may be listening for the magic they've made. Yanking her closer, slamming home again, he can only let go of the coil in his belly to find his own peak.

He's lured back to awareness by the gentle stroke of her hands on his shoulders and down his back, the tease of her nails over the swell of his ass.

Lifting his head, Rick finds her mouth, taking a moment to paint her lips with his gratitude. They've always been good together, and even their fumbles fill him up with a joy he'd never truly known until being with her, but they keep getting better. They truly do.

"Wow."

She shakes with the force of her giggle, sucking in a deep breath when he can't control his groan. She knows what laughing does to him at times like this; how her body grips him and tries to coax him back to life for another round.

Though, after last night and this morning, it may take a little more than that. He slips from her body with a sigh, offering her thigh a gentle squeeze before he tugs a hand towel from the drawer and runs it under the faucet, returning to clean them both up with sure fingers.

"Thank you," she whispers once the towel has been rinsed and tossed in the direction of their bedroom, cupping his cheek in her palm, bringing him back to her for another kiss.

"For what?" he asks when they part, pushing a strand of sweaty hair away from her forehead.

She offers him a toothy grin, her eyes burning amber with joy at the tease that's to come.

"Refraining from humming Pomp and Circumstance this time around. Unlike last night."

"I'll show you Pomp and Circumstance," he mutters. His fingers trip down her sides, refusing to relent until the kitchen is alive with the sound of her shrieking laughter.

Later, long after she's found the hickeys on her neck and threatened to do bodily harm – but still practically mauled him the moment she saw him in his dinner clothes – he accepts the honor cords they now share from her hand and stuffs them into his pocket, turning to face some friend of her mom and dad's.

"We had a little mishap with Rick's," she explains, resting her cheek on Rick's shoulder. "Graduation cords meet cab door. It wasn't pretty."

He presses his lips together, his head bobbing in easy agreement. And she calls him the wordsmith in the relationship; from pretending to have no idea about his favorite con movies – and he has Jim Beckett to thank for spilling that secret – to this, she can spin quite the story when she wants to.

"We salvaged what we could," Rick chimes in, smoothing his palm down his girlfriend's back. His fingers tease beneath one of the cutouts in her dress, delighting in the energy he feels building beneath her skin. "They're tucked away at home. For safekeeping."

He feels Kate's lips twist against his shoulder.

Safekeeping, or the next time they're feeling adventurous.

Either story will do.


	34. Dangling Modifier

_Anonymous asked: found this on a list of prompts and hope you can fill it. "I'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else."_

I am so so so sorry this has taken me so long to write for you, Anon. I hope you enjoy it! Originally posted on my tumblr.

**Dangling Modifier**

**A Season 2 AU**

* * *

"Castle, I swear; if you're not ready in five minutes, I'm leaving without you."

When she had first called her shadow metrosexual all those weeks ago, she hadn't known how right she had been. The man takes _forever_ to get ready in the morning.

The first time she had chalked it up to the early hour, cutting him slack for his lack of speed because he had come skidding into his kitchen to prepare her coffee the way she likes it. The second time, she had teased him a little bit, asking how long it usually took him when she wasn't there to urge him along. She had received a muttered 'har har' in return.

This time, well, this time she's not holding back. They were supposed to be at the crime scene ten minutes ago, and she can just _hear_ the shit she is going to get from Espo and Ryan – not to mention Lanie, ugh – for showing up late with Castle in tow. The 'playing house' teases have already started; the last thing she needs is to give them more ammunition.

It's bad enough that she doesn't _totally_ hate being here, in his home and with his family (with him), she doesn't need the boys giving them hell for it, too.

Four minutes pass without a word of acknowledgement from him. Her foot taps the final minute before she pushes away from the counter and stomps into his office, ready to yank him out of the loft by his ear.

"Come _on_, Castle. Leave your hair alo –"

Oh, shit.

She _really_ should have stayed in the other room.

He's…

Okay, he's naked. Fine. She, Kate Beckett, has seen naked men before. Good-looking naked men. Naked men with six packs, naked men with trim waists, naked men with the beginnings of beer guts, even.

Never Richard Castle, though.

She has never seen Richard Castle's naked ass, nor his naked, broad chest. And especially not his naked –

"Sorry, sorry. I smelled like onions for some reason, so I jumped in the show- Beckett?"

Tearing her eyes upward, she's mortified to find him smirking at her, cock – fuck – cocky as hell. She looks away, choosing instead to focus on the vintage typewriter on one of his shelves.

"I'm…" she swallows hard before continuing, "okay; I'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else."

Bastard that he is, Castle chuckles. Seconds later, she hears the slide of his drawer and the whisper of fabric moving over skin.

"Anything else," he announces, lifting an eyebrow when she looks back at him. He's still bare-chested, but at least his… at least he is somewhat decent.

"Funny," Kate drawls, clearing her throat. "We have a case, so if you could just hurry _up_."

Shit, bad choice of words.

She steps back, her eyes flicking to his crotch without her permission. Oh, even in his boxers, that is impressive.

"I'll wait for you outside," she says without giving him a chance to argue, turning on her heel and escaping the apartment.

Where it is cold.

Cold enough, anyway. The weather is finally starting to feel like spring, though, so it's definitely not the arctic plunge she needs after this.

It's public, if nothing else. Public, so she shouldn't think about the lines of Castle's naked body, or what his skin might feel like underneath her hands. His skin or his… other bits.

Which are definitely not bit-y.

Castle joins her exactly seven minutes later, passing her a newly filled coffee cup without a word. She can't help but suck down the offering, prolonging the quiet for a few seconds more.

"Castle –"

"Beckett –"

Damn, they need to stop doing this. It's only gotten worse since she started staying with him, their ability to fall in sync with one another.

"Go ahead," she murmurs, glancing up at his face only to find her cheeks burning once more.

"Dinner tonight, you and me."

"What?" she asks, meeting his eyes once more.

Okay, maybe they're not reading each other's minds just yet; she has no idea what he's talking about this time.

"Let's have dinner tonight."

"We have dinner every night."

He mock laughs, stepping closer as they pause at a crosswalk. "You know what I mean. A meal shared between two people who make pleasant conversation with one another by choice, not just by chance or due to convenience."

"A date," she supplies, sipping from her coffee cup. It helps her feign nonchalance.

The corner of his lip lifts. "I think we're way past simple dates, don't you, Detective? After all, I have seen yours, sort of, you've definitely seen mine, and we do live together. I think we're getting pretty serious."

Rolling her eyes, she steps off the curb as soon as the walk signal appears. The slap of his loafers on concrete tells her he's following.

"That's not a no, you know."

Her lips twitch. He caught that, did he? "No, it's not."

"So it's a yes?" he breathes, his eyes opening wider. Somehow, he actually pulls off innocent.

"It's an 'if your dangling modifier didn't make us so late we're stuck at the precinct until midnight tonight, sure.' How's that?"

She is pretty proud of herself for that one, but never more so than when Castle practically chokes on his own saliva as he laughs in the middle of the street.


	35. Business As Usual

fembot77 asked: Castle Flash-Fiction Challenge: Beckett between contractions, Beckett during contractions

This turned out differently than I expected, but let's go with it. 1 hour writing time means no second guessing. Originally posted on my tumblr many months ago. Kiiind of AU. (Okay, actually AU.)

**Business As Usual**

* * *

"I'm sorry."

It's watery, whispered into the space between them, and it's all he can do not to drop to his knees at the edge of the bed. She's beautiful and soft, almost delicate in the pale moonlight, an utter contrast from the angry chaos of just a few hours ago.

"Sorry? Why are you –" He does move closer, angling the chair to face her.

"Your hand," she interrupts, swiping her fingers under her eyes before securing the bundle in her arms once more. "Castle, I broke your hand during a contraction."

A smile touches his lips. Yeah, she'd done that; she'd kept a hold on his hand throughout each contraction, her grip Iron Woman-worthy, but that final, agonizing stretch before their son made his debut to the world had overwhelmed her. She'd yanked and clutched with everything she had, bearing down on his knuckles as their son's big head left her body.

"Worth it," he whispers, resting the cast beside her hip. Guilt flashes across her face again, but he offers a short shake of his head. "Beckett, you were delivering a _person_ at the time. I think you get a pass for this."

He'd felt the pop, but hadn't even noticed the pain until the nurse offered the baby to him. It was only after Kate encouraged him to follow the baby to the nursery that it had truly registered. When his hand ached with every strike of his foot against the floor, he'd stopped writing it off as soreness.

Kate exhales, lowering her eyes to his injured hand. He wiggles his fingers, hoping she can't see his discomfort in the shadows. He'd opted for regular pain meds instead of the heavy duty ones; he doesn't want to be loopy on their first night as a family.

"It's just a few weeks," he adds, scooting closer, cupping her cheek with his good hand. Her body lists into the contact, eyes slipping shut. "I'll be good as new in just a few weeks."

"Yeah," she agrees, clearing her throat. Her eyes pop open again, shining. "Still, I'm sorry you won't have both hands to hold him until then. It's…"

"Like your heart has left your chest and your entire being is in your arms," he finishes for her, dropping his head to watch their son's chest rise and fall with each breath.

She nods, turning her face into his hand, brushing her lips along his wrist. "That's exactly how it feels right now. He's just so perfect. And we did that. We made that."

He nods in return, shifting his weight against the bed. The motion jars his fingers, but he ignores the twinges in favor of taking her lips with his.

Beckett sighs into the kiss, whispering his name against his mouth.

"Yeah?" he breathes, pushing a short strand of hair off her forehead.

"I'm also sorry I threatened to shoot you."

Rick grins, taking another slow sip from her mouth. "You do that every day."

Her lips quirk. "Not every day. Every other, maybe."

He settles back in his chair, slipping his good hand under the baby's back. The angle is awkward, but he doesn't care; he's there with them both.

"Uh huh. You were also between contractions when you said it. I figured it was business as usual."

That makes her laugh, letting him know it's going to be okay. Broken fingers or not, it's going to be okay.


End file.
